


Where’s Spenser

by missblueeyes63



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Drama, Gen, Hero Clay, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family, Whump Brock, Whump Clay, Whump Jason, Whump Ray, Whump Sonny, Whump Trent, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missblueeyes63/pseuds/missblueeyes63
Summary: A series of situations where someone asks, "Where's Spenser?"  Should be loads of fun with lots of whumpage to go around.This is 'S' in the Alphabet Injuries collection.





	1. For Want of a Shower

_**Somewhere in the Sahara Desert – Remote Base Camp** _

_Shower_. One word played on a loop in Clay’s head. All he wanted was a shower, and it didn’t matter if it was cold or hot, though given his location it would be tepid and short. But even that didn’t matter. He needed to wash sand from places it should never be.

He was the last of the team to head to the showers, having to provide Mandy a detailed report from his observation post. Partly it was a rookie thing too … the others claimed seniority, so got to go first. Sometimes it really sucked being Six on a six-man team.

Though, Spenser believed even if he were covering for Ray as Two, he would still be relegated to the last man to shower … even after Cerb. That is unless Summer was running with them … at least there was one whom he had seniority over. But Summer was not with them on this spin-up.

 _Shower._ Step. _Shower_. Step. _Shower_. Step. _Shower_. Step. His destination in sight now. Step, step. _Shower_. Step, step. _Shower_. Step, step, step. _Shower_. _Oh, blessed shower tent._

Shedding his gear as fast as humanly possible, after hanging his towel over the partition, Clay undressed. Grabbing his bar of soap, he stepped into the stall with a huge grin plastered on his grimy face. He pulled the chain to spill enough water to get himself wet, letting some run through his sand-laden hair, watching the little beads of earth collect near the drain.

He shut off the water since conservation meant others could also shower, given that water had to be trucked into this remote camp. Rubbing the soap in his hands to create a lather, he started with his sunburned face and moved to his hair, scratching out the caked-in sand, thankful Virginia didn’t experience haboobs like the Sahara desert. Next up, the private places where sand caused chafing.

Reaching with sore muscles for the lever again, ready to rinse, the earth shook beneath his feet in combination with a sonic boom. That is the last thing Spenser registered before his lights shut off and his soapy-sand-covered, naked, body slammed into the shower floor.

The explosion stunned everyone in the camp. Jason rushed out of his tent, wearing shorts and sandals only. Ray, right behind him, tossed him his weapon. In short order, Brock, Cerb, and Trent emerged from a second tent, Brock pulling on a shirt and Trent hefting his medical bag on his shoulder as he shifted the weight of his gun in his other hand.

“THERE!” Ray pointed to the billowing black smoke and orange flames.

“Shit … they hit the ammo supply.” Jason started forward as soldiers spilled out of other tents all prepared to defend the camp from an unexpected attack … the sentries posted on guard duty hadn’t sent up any alert before the explosion.

“Jace …” Ray’s eyes caught sight of the mess tent … or what used to be the tent, as fire engulfed the sides not already collapsed. “Sonny went to grab something for the kid to eat.”

All five changed direction to render aid to those crawling out from underneath the canvas … bloody, burned, and disoriented … all searching for Sonny among the injured as they ran.

His ears ringing, his equilibrium off, Sonny kept one hand on the collar of the soldier who had been standing right next to him when things went sideways in an instant. The shouts and screams around him didn’t register through the Bells of St. Mary sounding off in his head. In agony, with a piece of shrapnel sticking out of his shin, Sonny continued to drag the hopefully, only unconscious, soldier behind him as he shoved his way the edge of the collapsed tent.

Several hands grabbed and pulled him, and he shouted, “HEY! NO!” as he lost his grasp on the other man.

“We got you … both of you.” Jason didn’t stop moving when Sonny struggled against him. He and Brock pulled Sonny free of the burning debris while Trent and Ray got the severely injured man whose side had been skewered by a pole.

Through the smoke, Sonny saw his team and surrendered his grasp on the sentient world as his eyes rolled back in his head, knowing they would save him.

Organized chaos reigned as the uninjured men ensured a secure perimeter for the encampment, worked to put out the fires before they spread, set up a triage area and a morgue, while the commanding officer called for CASEVAC support.

Sweating, exhausted after working to save several critically wounded men, successful in most cases, but losing seven, Trent returned to Sonny who had been tagged as stable. Trent was the only full medic in the camp, though others possessed varying levels of competence, so he had to prioritize and focus on the most severe cases first, though part of him wanted to treat Sonny before anyone else. As he sat back on his heels, he blew out a long breath as he studied the shrapnel in Sonny’s shin before tackling removing it.

“How bad is it?” Jason squatted on the opposite side and peered at the piece of metal after wrapping a soldier’s burned arm.

“Not too severe. Don’t think it struck anything major. Wanna give me a hand?” Trent removed soiled gloves, preparing to slip on clean ones.

“Here. Drink or we’re gonna be treating you for dehydration,” Ray shoved a bottle of water to Trent as he wiped soot off his face.

“Thanks. Anymore injured found?” Trent sipped though he wanted to guzzle the tepid liquid.

Ray, who had been helping to shift through the ruined mess tent, shook his head. “No, the last bodies were located.” His eyes moved to the area set up as a morgue, sighing as he noted twelve black body bags.

Brock trotted up with Cerb, who wore little booties to protect his paws from the burning sand. “No sign of any insurgents. The Supply Sergeant insists he saw no one that shouldn’t be here milling around the ammo depot.”

“Could be sabotage by one of the local soldiers. A sleeper who saw an opportunity to wreak havoc and kill a number of us.” Jason gloved up as Trent did, ready to assist.

Sonny’s eyes blinked open. The ringing lessened from earlier, enough to distinguish actual words and he caught Jason’s comment. He scanned his brothers surrounding him and smiled when Cerb’s snout nudged his cheek and licked him. “Hey. What happened?”

Shielding Sonny’s face from the intense sun, Ray answered, “Supply depot blew up. Not exactly sure how it happened, but we suppose it was on purpose. None of our guys would be careless enough to cause an explosion.”

The words ‘our guys’ caused Sonny to screw up his face, which was timed with Trent pulling out the shrapnel. He growled.

Brock, who now knelt next Sonny’s shoulder, pressed down as he said, “Hang tight. The worst is over … it’s out. Trent just needs to apply and hold pressure to stop the bleeding. You’ll have another little scar to tell stories about.”

Sonny’s gaze moved around him. Jason, Ray, Trent, Brock, Cerb. “Where’s Spenser?”

“SHIT!” erupted from four mouths as four pairs of eyes widened and turned in unison towards where the showers were located. Jason, Brock, Ray, and Cerb moved as one … rising and racing for the collapsed and lightly singed canvas of the shower tent which was on the opposite side of the supply depot from the mess tent.  


	2. Sorry Sailors

_**Somewhere in the Sahara Desert – Remote Base Camp** _

Stirring, his world discombobulated, weighted down, cocooned in something heavy and soggy, Clay blinked open his eyes, only to promptly squeeze them shut as pinpoints of sunlight stabbed stakes into his skull. He took several moments to just breath as he tried to sort out where he was … then it struck him … Shower tent.

Squinting, to ward-off as much pain as possible, as he opened his lids again to find a way out. Towards the light would be best … and worst … his spinning head told him. But try as he might to squirm his way to the only opening, the canvas on top of him kept him in place, which didn’t make any sense to him. _Heavy-duty fabric, but only cloth … it shouldn’t be trapping me like this._

The shouts and activity going on outside his cocoon told him something terrible happened, and he wanted to get out of here to make sure his brothers were alright, but he couldn’t. While wishing he had his knife to cut through the fabric to release himself, Clay took short, shallow breaths as nausea decided to come to his party … becoming more pronounced with each beat of his heart thundering in his skull.

When the noises outside receded, he called out for help. As he waited, the sweltering heat began to take a toll, and he slipped into a hazy, semi-conscious state, unaware if anyone heard his plea for assistance or not.

Which they had not. It took a dazed and stunned Sonny to call attention to the fact Spenser was missing before three of the six men of Bravo raced for the collapsed shower tent. Each man kicking himself for not noticing Clay was absent in the last thirty minutes.

“HERE!” Jason shouted as he located a man-sized lump under the soaked canvas … thankfully, between two huge water tanks and not under one of them.

Brock whipped out his knife, the only one to be wearing most of his tactical gear since he had helped secure the perimeter with Cerb while the others assisted with the rescue efforts and tending the wounded soldiers. He knelt and carefully but swiftly sliced the fabric.

Ray and Jason gripped the opening Brock made and began ripping, some might say frantically, but as elite, top-tier SEALs they wouldn’t admit to being frantic or panicked … no, they would claim, to anyone watching, their actions to be necessary and steady. But if truth be told, all three worried what they might find beneath the wet cloth … a dead brother they forgot about high on their ‘dammit, he better not be’ list.

Peeling away the fabric revealed Spenser’s stark-naked body. None of them gave a damn about his state of undress … hell, they all showered in front of one another often enough not to care about such things. What bothered them was blood slowly oozing from a gash on the side of his head and his semi-consciousness.

Jason took charge, checking for broken bones as Brock used his body to shield Clay’s already sunburned face and the delicate parts of his body from the brutal sun. Ray did rip off a piece of canvas and draped it over Spenser’s groin … knowing he would appreciate it if he were in the kid’s position.

“Spense, hey kid, can you hear me?” Not finding anything busted, Jason breathed a sigh of relief as he called to the kid. Lightly tapping his cheek, Jason said, “Come on. Wake up. Show us those blue eyes.”

Moaning and trying to pull away, Clay blinked open upon Jason’s command. He slammed his eyes shut again as the daggers stabbed his skull again. He mumbled, “Gonna be sick.”

In an instant, he was rolled to his side, and he lost the battle with his stomach … spewing the contents … which amounted to only a little watery bile … the reason for Sonny’s excursion to the mess tent in the first place, Spenser hadn’t eaten in almost a day.

“He’s slippery,” Ray said as he held Clay’s shoulders while Jason pressed a gauze pad to the cut on the kid’s head.

“Soapy. He was showering,” Brock offered, wanting to do more to help than be a sunscreen. His eyes landed on the water tanks which surprisingly were still intact. “Want me to get water to rinse him off?”

Trent trotted over after bandaging Sonny’s leg. He had to promise to send someone over with an update on Spenser in order to get the Texan to agree to stay put. “How is he? Anything severe?” He squatted next to Jason, who held Clay’s head as the kid puked.

“Only the cut to his head … and throwing up started when he opened his eyes. Thinking concussion because he wasn’t quite with it when we sliced this open.” Jason shifted, his back feeling the effect of the afternoon sun, and he wished he had pulled on a shirt at some point in the last half hour, but people’s lives were more important than suffering a sunburn.

Clay moaned as he spat the foul taste out of his mouth.

“Done?” Jason asked.

“Yeah.”

They rolled Spenser to his back, and his hand came up to cover his eyes … becoming more aware of his surroundings. “Shit. Someone blew up my shower.”

His teammates chuckled, and Trent said, “Head hurting?”

Annoyed his shower was interrupted and realizing he lay here buck-ass naked, feeling like shit, a sour note entered his tone as he gave Trent a snarky answer, “No shit, Sherlock!”

“Hey, be nice to me, or I’ll let you suffer.” Trent’s actions countered his words as he gave Clay a shot of painkillers. He glanced at Ray. “Go grab the sheets off our cots to wrap him in.” Shifting his gaze to Brock, he added, “Find a bucket so we can rinse him off a bit … covered in sand can’t be comfortable.”

Clay kept his eyes firmly clamped shut, clenched his jaw, and gritted his teeth as he allowed his brothers to do what they will with him. In short order water slushed over him several times, they snuggly wrapped him in a sheet, bandaged his head, and moved him to a stretcher.

At some point, he drifted off … the painkillers taking full effect. He was not aware of being loaded into a helo beside Sonny, or that Jason and Trent crowded into the bird around them as Ray, Brock, and Cerb, who would gather everyone’s gear and take the next flight out, stood back and watched them take off.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital** _

Sonny’s arm crossed his chest, glaring at Jason, Ray, Trent, and Brock from his hospital bed, still thoroughly pissed off. He wasn’t about to let any one of them off the hook. “Not once did it cross your minds Spenser wasn’t with you? Not a single solitary moment of … where is the little shit … why isn’t he with us pulling Sonny outta the mess tent … Really?!”

Jason started to open his mouth, but Sonny wasn’t finished. “He ain’t the silent type like Brock. And hell, not even Cerb did his barking … going off the deep end antics when the kid isn’t within sight.” His glare shifted to the ground beside his bed in time to catch Cerberus hang his head as if in shame.

“At least the dog has the good sense to be ashamed of himself. Thirty minutes … thirty shameful minutes you forgot about our little brother. You better figure out a way to make it up to him. You broke a trust. I ain’t telling him you screwed up, you are, and you damned well NEVER do that shit again.”

Sonny’s gaze turned to Clay, who lay sleeping in the other bed. The kid had been miserable with a massive headache brought on by light sensitivity. His brother had been sick to his stomach more times than Sonny could count in the last sixteen hours, putting Spenser’s body through the proverbial wringer … so physically exhausted, he finally succumbed to sleep, helped along with antiemetics and painkillers.

“You done?” Jason asked.

“Yeah, I said my peace.” Sonny leaned back … not in much better shape than Clay. The pounding headache and the throbbing in his shin making him surly … but still grateful he didn’t puke his guts out like his roommate.

“Good. Get some rest. We’ll be back in the morning.” Jason pivoted and strode out of the room. Once outside, he slumped against the wall and raked both hands through his hair as self-recrimination ate at him and the other guys sauntered out.

“Sonny’s right. We screwed up. How are we going to make this right?” Ray leaned on the opposite wall and peered at the door Trent shut behind him as the last man to exit. His gaze moved to Brock, who appeared as hang-dog as the hair missile. The similar sorrowful expressions of the two almost … almost made him snicker, but seriousness of the situation dampened his reaction.

“Don’t know. Need a beer.” Jason pushed off the wall … striding out, pissed off at himself. He failed today. His job was to ensure his men … _all_ of them were safe … and he fucking forgot Spenser. It wasn’t like he was new … a rookie … he was one of them … been through hell and back with them … saved their asses many times. He couldn’t blame the chaos … that was their world. They operated in more chaotic environments all the time … and he never until today forgot a single man … not even a strap.

Ray hurried after Jace. Bravo One, his best friend, was not in a good headspace. Hell, none of them were. Ever since he stood watching the helo take to the air with the kid in it, he tried to work out in his mind how they allowed something like this to happen. Ray still didn’t have any satisfactory answers.

As Jason and Ray left, Brock squatted next to Cerb and scratched behind his ear, sharing a commiserating look with his dog. He had taken the time to put on Cerb’s botties … ones Clay bought for the pup when they found out they would be spun up to do recon in the Sahara. The kid said the sand would be irritating and burn Cerb’s paws. Got the special gift for both Cerb’s and Brock’s sake after recalling Brock carried Cerb when they hiked to exfil in Hércules, Mexico.

And even as he put on the booties … he hadn’t realized Clay hadn’t been there helping to drag Sonny out of the mess tent. Brock couldn’t for the life of him understand why neither he nor Cerb, who still curled up to sleep with the t-shirt he stole from Clay’s place after the Nepal mission, missed Spenser today.

It disconcerted him more than anything … more than seeing the photo of Clay hanging from the hook and even more than when they found him in Tibet with all those burns on his back. Because each of those times they were actively aware he was missing and searching for him. This time … they had been clueless … careless … and that didn’t sit well in his stomach.

Brock rose and peered at Trent who stared at the closed door. “You going or gonna stay here?”

Pulled from his revive, Trent shifted his gaze to Brock. He sighed and pushed back his shaggy hair. “Not sure.”

“The medical staff is taking care of both of them.” Brock exhaled heavily.

“Yeah … but I think one of us … besides Sonny, should be in that room when Spenser is more coherent. He’s gonna think … hell, I don’t know what he’s gonna think. I just need to be here … unlike at the remote base.”

“Hey … this isn’t on you Trent. Your focus was on guys who were bleeding out … trying to save their lives. Me, on the other hand … I should’ve—”

Trent interrupted. “You what ... should’ve not ensured the base was secure while most people’s attention was on the injured? Not organized the local military to protect everyone if there had been an insurgent force ready to attack?”

Brock’s fist clenched. “I should’ve realized Clay would’ve been right beside me doing the same thing if he were able. And when he wasn’t … I should’ve of damn-well noticed. Yeah, he might only have a small gash and a headache … concussion … but he could’ve bled out had he had a stick in him like the guy Sonny was trying to help when we found him.”

There was nothing Trent could say to rebut Brock’s words. “You staying too, then?”

“Yeah. I’ll take Cerb out to relieve himself, grab us coffee, and a sandwich. I’ll be back shortly.”

They separated, Trent going back into the room, and Brock heading to the stairwell to sneak Cerb outside and grab a snack from one of the street vendors close to the hospital.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Lo Siento Marinero Pub** _

His second tequila in hand, Jason stared at the wall with a poorly drawn image of a drunken sailor with a morose face at the back of the Sorry Sailor Pub. The bar’s name fit his mood. He was one sadsack … throwing himself a pity party as he beat the shit out of himself mentally.

Returning from the men’s room, Ray patted Jason’s back as he resumed his seat beside Jason. When his friend flinched and shied away, he grimaced. “Sorry … forgot the sunburn.” He lifted his beer and took a long draw recalling the bright red shoulders and back on Jason when they showered at the barracks and changed into civvies before leaving the base.

“Forgetting is something we seem to be doing a lot of today.” Jason knocked back his shot and waved to the bartender for another.

The slight verbal slap didn’t go unnoticed by Ray, but he didn’t retort, only nodded in agreement. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“Drink.”

“After that?”

“Drink some more.”

“Jace—”

Turning hard-edged eyes on Ray, Jason snapped, “What?”

“Com’ on this won’t solve the situation with Spenser.”

“Not trying to solve anything … getting shitfaced.” When his tequila was delivered, Jason requested two more shots as he slammed down the one before him and chased it with his beer.

Ray sucked in a breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Not the best idea.”

“Don’t give a shit what you think.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Not tonight. Tonight, I’m sayin’ goodbye to my career.”

His face screwing up in confusion, Jason’s words taking a complete detour from what he expected, Ray asked, “Say again?”

Swallowing another shot, Jason shifted in his seat, turning to peer out at the bar patrons. His eyes found the only blond man in the room, spiking his guilt more. “I’m responsible for all of you, and I failed Blondie today. Kid could’ve died before …” He finished off the tequila as the memory of the first op with Spenser came to mind. 

Jason asked, “Remember our first mission with Spenser?”

“When he swacked Samir?” Ray wondered what that mission had to do with now.

“No, his first official mission as Bravo Six, not as a strap.”

“The Russian defector?”

“Yeah. When Spenser and I hunkered down, I told him to get some sleep, and he responded he could go one day without racking out. That led to me asking about Stella … letting him know if he wanted her to be notified if he was killed or jacked up, she needed to be his legal next of kin. The kid said he never imagined his first day as a DEVGRU operator he would be sitting there with his team leader playing Dr. Phil.”

Jason reached for his beer and slugged down a swig. “You know what I said to him?”

“No, but I bet you’re gonna tell me.” Ray swiveled on the bar stool to face outward too, stealing a glance at Jason.

“I told him what I care about are the guys on my team. And they cannot afford to be distracted. Margin of error is zero. My error margin today is so far off zero … I failed him. I’ve been screwing up ever since Alana served me with divorce papers … and only got worse after she died. My attention has been split … I’m the one distracted, and he is the one who suffered.”

“Jace, … I’m saying again … this isn’t all on you. We, you and me own this. Trent and Brock were focused on what they needed to be. We failed Spenser, and we will find a way to salvage things with the kid.” Ray let his mind wander over the time Clay had been with Bravo and let out a sigh.

He set down his beer. “Things haven’t gone smooth for us in a long time, and we’ve been on mission after shitty mission of late. We’ve all had personal shit and crises to deal with. Maybe we all need a bit of a break … time to put our heads back on straight. Perhaps Bravo needs to be stood down for a month or so … might do us all some good because you’re right … mistakes like today shouldn’t happen. And that is on you and me. The guys depend on us to bring them home.”

Jason considered Ray’s words. “Suppose you could be right …” he trailed off. Forgetting Spenser today, shredded him to the core. “But perhaps all that is needed is a change in who is Bravo One.” He chugged his beer and stood up.

“You don’t mean that!” Ray scooted off the stool his eyes rounding, stunned, unsure how to respond.

“Maybe I do.”

“Jace—”

Whatever Ray would’ve said was stopped by the massive, ham-like fist slamming into the side of his head. As he crumpled to the sticky barroom floor, Ray didn’t see Jason’s fist fly at the man who struck him. Nor was he aware of the all-out brawl which ensued.

The unprovoked attack on his best friend unleashed Jason’s rage which was further fueled by his inner turmoil over the Spenser situation. Jason lost his shit, and by the time MPs and Spanish police arrived, six men lay on the floor or across tables.

Luckily, the bartender conveyed to the authorities Jason didn’t instigate the scuffle. So he was not arrested with the men who came into the pub solely intent on starting a fight with American sailors … not expecting to find themselves in the cross-hairs of one extremely pissed off SEAL.

Breathing heavy, Jason slid down beside Ray, and gently lifted his head, shifting it in his lap while waiting for medical personnel to arrive. The swelling at Ray’s temple worried the hell out of Jason. “Ray … Ray … God, Ray … you gotta be alright. Naima needs you. I need you. The team needs you … please.”

If anyone had asked, Jason would’ve blame the shaking of his body on the adrenaline coursing through his veins … but in reality, he was scared of losing his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting, but the third section took a hard right turn from what I originally planned, but it works for the story so ... it stayed as is. Sometimes my muse has much different plans than I do.


	3. Simple Simon Strikes

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – ER Waiting Room** _

Briskly striding into the emergency room, Blackburn didn’t halt until he was standing in front of Hayes. The master chief’s head was bowed, and his forearms rested on his thighs as he played with a rubber band. He noted the scraped-up knuckles. “Jason?”

Slowly lifting his head, Jason presented a bruised and swollen face with a couple of black sutures above his left eyebrow, which would’ve blended in except for the redness. “Eric.”

“Jesus, you look like shit. Your message was cryptic. What the hell happened? How is Ray?”

Jason related what happened in the Sorry Sailor pub, then said, “They haven’t come out to tell me anything yet, and they wouldn’t allow me to be in his room after they stitched me up. Perhaps you’ll have some sway.” Jason sighed. Weary of screwing up. “If I hadn’t gone there to marinate my sorry ass in tequila … Ray wouldn’t have been sucker punched. Hell, I had so much to drink I didn’t even see the shithole until after he struck Ray and fell to the ground.”

A small smile formed. “Made them pay, though. They’ll be sore for weeks. Some might be on soft foods for months with broken jaws.” He blew out a breath and sagged back in the chair. “Can you go check on Ray?”

“Sure. Wait here.”

“Not going anywhere.”

Eric nodded and moved off to the nurses’ station. After a short conversation, he was led back into the treatment area.

* * *

**_Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Stairwell_ **

Brock trotted up the stairs, somewhat disgusted with his lack of language skills. He had difficulty speaking with the street vendor and truly didn’t know what he ended up with for him and Trent to eat. He held the two foil-wrapped whatevers against his chest along with one of two piping hot coffees … at least they smelled like coffee when he pointed to them … and the other one was in his hand.

This juggling act necessary because Cerb’s strap was loosely wound round his other hand since the clip decided to break as he tried to secure it to his belt loop after he ordered the food. He rounded the second-floor landing when the door opened up, and he abruptly stopped, hoping like hell whoever it was didn’t immediately kick him and Cerb out of the hospital.

Unfortunately, the person was not watching where they were going in as they backed into the stairwell while speaking to someone in the hallway. Unable to move fast enough to move out of the way, the man ran into his arm holding the coffees and snack. The paper cups crushed, spilling hot coffee on his hand and soaking his shirt.

Brock dropped everything, including the leash as the burning liquid seared him. And as he was splashed, he jumped in response, slipping on the spilled coffee, sending him tumbling down the steps, and landing splayed out on his back at the bottom.

Cerb growled at the stranger, angry he hurt his partner. _Watch where you’re going stupid!_ Before the man could react, Cerb darted down the stairs to Brock. He whimpered. _Are you okay?_

Sitting up, shaking his stinging hand, and pulling the hot fabric away from his stomach, Brock said, “I’m fine, Cerb, … stand down.”

Rushing down the steps behind the dog, Seaman Simons knelt next to the curly-haired man. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been more careful. Are you hurt? Anything broke?” The hospital corpsman’s eyes widened, noting the bright red hand and soaking wet, brown-stained shirt. “Besides needing a change of clothes, a doctor should examine your hand and stomach. Those appear to be at least second-degree burns.”

Brock pushed up to his feet, peered down at the mess, sighed, and said, “I’ll just have Sawyer look at it.”

“Sawyer?”

Shifting his gaze up again, Brock explained, “My team medic. He’s upstairs with our teammates. Was taking him a snack ‘cause he won’t leave until—” Brock stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Cerb gnawing on the now unwrapped food. “NO! Don’t eat that! You might get sick.”

Cerb glanced up, no remorse in his eyes … more like he was smirking. _Mmmm, yummy sausage shouldn’t go to waste._ But he obeyed and backed away from the sumptuous smelling morsels, but swallowed the bits he already had in his mouth.

Simons registered the canine again. “Hey, pets are not allowed in the hospital.”

“Cerb’s not a pet … he’s a SEAL.”

“He’s not a seal … they swim in the sea and don’t have four legs or …” feeling stupid as he realized what the bearded man meant, Simons trailed off. “Oh, um, sorry, again.” Wanting to make amends he inquired, “What room are your teammates in?”

Suspicious, Brock eyed the corpsman. “Why?”

“Well, the least I can do for knocking you down the stairs is to send you something decent to eat. My wife works at a little restaurant not far from the hospital. They make the best salchica, a thin pork sausage with a savory sauce made with setas which are wild mushrooms. And for a sweet treat, they have sobao … a Spanish delicacy … a traditional cake flavored with lemon zest and rum.” Simons' mouth watered just thinking about the dessert.

“Sounds delicious. Room four seventeen.”

Simons smiled. “I’ll clean this up too. You better hurry and sneak Cerb into the room before someone else spots him and makes you take him out … SEAL or not, they don’t like animals in the hospital.”

“Then Sonny shouldn’t be here,” Brock quipped.

“What?”

“Never mind. Thanks.” His hand and stomach still stinging, Brock trotted up the stairs, not looking forward to bothering Trent with treating him … but he needed some aloe vera salve at the very least for his burns.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Fourth Floor** _

“What the hell happened to you?” Sawyer rose and moved towards Brock who stood at the entryway.

“Slipped … well, actually … doesn’t matter. Need you to take a gander at my hand … and also my stomach. Probably better if we do it out here, so we don’t wake Spenser or Quinn.”

As Cerb trotted in and took up watch between the two beds, Trent and Brock exited. Examining the reddened skin Brock’s hand, Trent asked, “How’d you burn this?”

“Hot coffee … or at least I think it was coffee. I should probably learn a bit of Spanish. At least more than the necessities of taco, enchilada, sopapilla, sangria, and senorita.”

Despite the injury he was studying, Trent chuckled at Brock’s list. “The second layer of skin is involved, so this is gonna blister, but it isn’t too severe. Lift your shirt.”

Brock complied.

Trent let out a low whistle viewing the scalded area. “That’s gonna hurt like Jason’s sunburn. Come with me, we need to soak your burns in cool water. I also need to find out if they have any silver sulfadiazine ointment.”

Within moments of their arrival at the nurses’ station, a solicitous nurse brought the requested supplies, as well as the top to a pair of scrubs for Brock to change into. Trent gently cleaned the burned areas with cool water, patted them dry, applied the silvadene, and covered them with loose gauze.

Trent’s stomach rumbled with hunger. “Too bad you dropped our food. I’ll see if the vending machine has something decent and meet you back in the room.”

Having forgotten about the corpsman’s offer until now, Brock grinned. “No need. A meal is on its way. We won’t have to eat the mystery meat I purchased. How does thin pork sausages with a wild mushroom sauce sound? Oh, and dessert too … some type of cake. Can’t recall what he called it, but its got rum in it.”

Chuckling again, Trent handed Brock a couple of acetaminophen tablets. “No scratching or popping the blisters, and no steamy showers. You’re gonna be hurting, these will help you a little better than rum cake.”

“But not as tasty.” Brock swallowed the pills with water provided by the nurse, then stood, eager to return and see if the food had been delivered.

As they strolled back to the room, Trent broke left at an intersection and said, “I’ll steal us some decent coffee from the staff breakroom.”

“You know where it is?”

“Yep.”

A few moments later, Brock grinned when he spotted the corpsman standing outside the room holding several bags. “Appreciate this. What’s your name?”

“Simon Simons, and yeah, my parents did that … I’m just grateful they didn’t name me Simple Simons.” Simon laughed. “I hope you enjoy your supper. He handed off the packages. “I gotta get back to work.”

“Thanks again,” Brock grinned and called over his shoulder as he entered room four seventeen.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Staff Breakroom** _

Searching for sugar, Trent squatted to peer in the lower cabinet after checking all the drawers and upper cabinets. He spied his prize and grabbed a few packets from the box. Using a wooden stir stick, he dissolved the sugar in his brew and savored the first sip. They all needed sleep, but he would rely on caffeine to keep him awake tonight in case Spenser woke and needed him.

Thinking about Brock’s scalding, he went to the fridge and opened the freezer section. Iced coffee it would be … no need to take more risks tonight. He poured half from each cup into two more cups and filled all four with ice cubes. Satisfied they would be set for several hours now, he picked up the beverages, three held against his chest and one in his hand as moved to the closed door.

Leaning forward, reaching for the handle, the edge of the metal door unexpectedly slammed into his head as someone on the opposite side pushed it open. “OW!” He moved backward, his empty hand going to his forehead as he felt a trickle slithering down his face.

Seaman Simons stared as blood snaked down the man’s cheek. “Oh God, not again! Sorry, so sorry. Second time today I’ve injured someone on the other side of a door.”

Trent retreated to the sink area and set the cups down. He grabbed a paper towel and pressed it to his cut.

“What can I do?”

“Think you’ve done enough.”

“I mean to help. Let me take a look at the gash. I’m a corpsman. Name’s Simons.”

Trent lowered the towel and allowed Simons to take a peek. “Deep?”

Simons shook his head. “Doubt it requires sutures, but a few butterfly strips would keep the edges together.”

Trent sighed. “Do me a favor. Go get my teammate, Reynolds, from room four seventeen. His hand is burned, but he can still assist me.”

“I can do …” Simon trailed off again as his face turned scarlet with embarrassment. “Four seventeen?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh shit … you’re a SEAL too … don’t kill me.”

“What?”

“I’m the one who knocked him down a flight of stairs … caused the coffee to spill on him.”

“He fell down the stairs?”

“Yes.”

“Did he hit his head?”

“Um, I’m not sure … the dog was growling at me.”

“He’s protective of Brock. You’re lucky Cerb didn’t sink his teeth into you.”

Nervous and wanting to make himself scarce, Simons nodded. “Think the dog was distracted by the sausage rolls which came apart when … um … Brock fell.”

Putting the paper towel back in place to stem the bleeding, Trent sucked in a breath. The lack of disclosure from Brock steamed him. _Five knows better than not to come clean on any potential injury. Slipped doesn’t convey plummeting down stairs._ “Take these coffees to the room and tell him to meet me at the nurses’ station.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry again.” Simons grabbed the drinks and swiftly left.

At a slower pace, Trent entered the hall as he contemplated the series of unfortunate events. Bravo now had four banged-up members. _If Ellis discovers the person or group responsible for the supply depot blowing up, it is unlikely we will be spun up to deal with it._ The thought stuck in his craw. He wanted swift and violent payback for the twelve dead soldiers and the multitude of injured ones.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – ER** _

Trent and Brock halted when faced with Jason, Ray, and Blackburn. Simultaneous but slight variants of, “What the hell happened to you?” came from both groups.

The senior members stared at Brock who wore a blue scrub’s top with his hand wrapped in gauze and Trent who now sported steri-strips above his brow. And the junior members gaped at the sutures above Jason’s bruised eyebrow, the contusions on his jaw starting to change from red to a deeper purplish color, and his abraded knuckles, before moving to Ray’s swollen and bruised temple.

Eric shook his head as he studied his medic and dog handler. _My men can find trouble even in the supposedly safe environment of a hospital._

Trent spoke first. “Simple Simon struck twice. Taking Brock for x-rays. His ribs are tender to the touch after being knocked down a flight of stairs, and while I don’t think they’re busted, I prefer to be safe than sorry.”

“And you?” Jason pointed to Trent’s head. “That the result of stairs too?”

“Nope. A door slammed into me. You two look like you’ve been in a brawl. Not fighting each other, are you?”

Ray shook his head. “No, but sort of thought Jace slugged me when I woke up. One minute we’re speaking and the next a fist smashes into my head. Was steaming mad at him so I made him wait out here. Blackburn explained what actually happened.”

Jason scowled. “Would never sucker punch you.”

“I know … let’s just chalk up my stupidity to still being somewhat dazed when I came around.” Ray glanced at Jason with a somewhat sheepish expression, still not happy he initially believed his best friend would strike him.

Jason patted Ray’s back and chuckled. “Sure. And for the record, I’ll always have your six. The shit-for-brains moron who hit you won’t be eating solid foods for months.”

The guys exchanged full stories as they reentered the treatment area to find a doctor to order x-rays for Brock. Blackburn excused himself as the four began to discuss how they were going to tell Spenser they forgot about him and how they might restore his trust in them. Sixty minutes later, after Brock received welcome news … only bruised ribs, the four sore guys strolled towards the elevators to return to Sonny’s and Clay’s room.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Room 417** _

Tired, sore, hungry, and looking forward to the supper Simon provided them, Brock pushed open the door. “We’ll share if you two are hungry,” Brock said over his shoulder to Ray and Jason.

“Something sweet sounds like it will hit the spot,” Ray chimed in, mostly wanting to sit somewhere quiet so the sambas in his head would settle down and hopefully stop.

Continuing into the room, Brock first spotted Cerb on the floor at the foot of the bed, licking an empty container with crumbs and sauce on his snout. “CERB, BAD BOY! YOU ATE OUR DINNER.”

The yelling roused Sonny, who opened bleary eyes and groused, “Shut up. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Jason, Ray, and Brock stared at Cerb who peered up at them with an offended, sad, and satisfied expression … not knowing which should take precedence. _Not a bad boy … me good boy … me like sausage and sobao cake too._

Trent’s eyes were elsewhere … Clay’s empty bed. His stomach twisting, Trent swiftly moved to the bathroom. Searching inside, he found a vacant toilet seat and no one standing at the sink. Pivoting, his countenance expressed surprise, fear, and worry. “Where’s Spenser?”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil muse strikes again.


	4. Saying Sorry

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Room 417** _

At Trent’s question everyone’s stunned eyes moved to Clay’s bed, finding only sheets they all shouted over one another.

“HOW DID CERB MISS HIM LEAVING?!”

“WHERE THE FUCK DID HE GO?”

“THE HELL … HOW COULD HE BE LOST AGAIN?”

“HE SHOULD BE SAFE AND SECURE IN THE HOSPITAL.”

“HOW IN THIS WORLD DID WE LOSE HIM AGAIN?”

Panic rose … yeah, serious panic because their rookie, who wasn’t really a rookie, their kid, who was actually a grown adult … their brother, one who wormed himself into their hearts, should be safely tucked into his bed and sleeping … but he wasn’t and that scared the hell out of each one of them

And while they all set about at freaking out, Cerb calmly licked his container wanting to get every last bit of the savory sauce. His pack was not stupid … they would figure things out soon … or not. It would be fun watching them and Brock deserved it for calling him a bad boy.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Fourth Floor** _

The wispy steam swirled around Clay’s head as hot water cascaded over his shoulders and down his back, soothing his sore muscles. Shifting on the shower stool he was required to sit on for safety’s sake, he didn’t want to leave his simple paradise, despite the present growing soreness in his butt.

He only agreed because the orderly who snuck him out of his room to take a shower said he would get in trouble if he slipped. Simons also indicated he was in enough trouble today as it was … having injured two people by being unsafe. Clay didn’t want to add to the man’s woes, so submitted to using the stupid seat.

Reaching for the soap, he lathered up his body, rinsed off, and repeated. The shampoo Simons provided had a hint of sandalwood and spice … nothing like his usual Irish Spring shampoo-body wash combo. The slogan for the commercial came to mind out of the blue. _Smell like you’re worth exploring._ “Well, I won’t be exploring anytime soon.” He carefully scrubbed over the side of his head with stitches.

After sudsing up a second time, Clay let the water run through his hair, so enjoying the sensation of plentiful, perfect temperature water spilling over him. Realizing he was being somewhat wasteful, a part of his ingrained behavior not to be, having grown up in areas where people had to carry water for miles, he reached up and shut off the valve. He shook his head like Cerb after a bath, splashing water all over the walls and shower curtain. 

“You done?” Simons called out.

“Yeah.” Clay reached for the offered towel and began drying his body, noting the various bruises.

“I procured you a set of scrubs and some slipper socks. Thought you might like those better than the open back gowns. Though the nurses will be sad you’re covered up.” Simons chuckled. He overheard several of the nurses commenting on the handsome sailor with the curly blond locks.

In some ways, Simon envied the SEALs, they were chick magnets, but he reminded himself he had a pretty senorita as a wife, which more than made up for not being as sought after as these guys were.

Clay stood and wrapped the towel around his waist before sliding open the curtain. “Thanks. Appreciate everything. All I wanted was a shower … but someone blew it up. Not sure exactly what happened.” He dressed as slow as a sloth, his stiff muscles protesting every movement.

His mop of hair still wet, Clay took a hand towel with him, rubbing it dry as Simon escorted him back towards his room. The orderly stopped him at the corner and peeked around to ensure it remained clear of Nurse Shirley … who Simon said was built like a Sherman Tank and just as deadly. She would surely ream him for allowing Spenser to leave his room.

“Coast is clear. I’ll let you go alone the rest of the way and keep a lookout here for Shirley. Don’t want her treads on my back again. She scares the hell outta most people.”

Snickering at the expression of fear on Simon’s face, Clay nodded. “Thanks again for sneaking me out.” He started down the hall, only a short distance from the shared room with Sonny. He was curious exactly what happened and how Sonny had been hurt … probably happened when his shower blew up.

Nearing his room, he heard raised voices, but they were all on top of one another so he couldn’t sort out what his teammates were shouting about. When Brock’s voice raised above all others as he bellowed, “RETIRE, SONNY? NO FUCKING WAY!” Clay quickened his stride, worried something might’ve happened to Sonny, all sorts of scary images ran through his mind because he didn’t know how badly his brother was wounded and Brock only shouted if the shit hit the fan.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Room 417** _

As the others continued to yell, disappointment wafted off Brock like the stench of rotting sturgeon entrails as he turned to find Cerb still licking the container. “Cerb, I told you to protect Spenser.”

Still angry with the guys, without realizing he was about to step into shit by making uninformed assumptions, Sonny said, “Maybe Cerb should retire. He didn’t alert you to Spenser missing at the base and now … he just lets someone come in and steal the kid while he sits there scoffing down food.”

“RETIRE, SONNY? NO FUCKING WAY!” Brock roared in response to Sonny’s scurrilous statement.

 Jason barked, “Enough! We don’t have time for this shit.” He gave both Sonny and Brock pointed glares. “We need to split up and find him.”

Reaching the doorway and catching Jason’s last statement, Clay entered, swiftly taking stock of his brothers’ conditions. They all appeared worse for wear. Into the silence which descended on the room, Clay innocently asked, “Why is Sonny retiring and who do we need to find?”

Five stunned pairs of eyes pinned him. “Whoa! What’s going on?” Clay started for his bed, needing to sit after using most of his energy to shuffle back to his room.

“Where the hell did you go?” Jason demanded, taking command as was his right as team lead.

Clay sat on his bed and swung his feet up, grateful for the socks, which warmed his cold feet and kept him from slipping on the slick tile floor. “Simon snuck me to the showers. Nurse Shirley didn’t want to let me go. But since my last one was so rudely interrupted. Well, I wanted one.”

“Shower? You were in the goddamned shower?” Jason shook his head at the absurdity of losing Spenser twice in showers.

“Oh, and thanks for dinner. I was starving, and I loved the pork sausage with savory mushroom sauce. And the lemon rum cake … splendid. You got me too much, so I shared what I didn’t finish with Cerb when I went to shower. Hope it doesn’t upset his stomach, but those sad, pleading eyes … I couldn’t resist.” Clay peered down at Cerb and smiled, not catching the guilt spreading across Brock’s and Sonny’s faces.

Shifting his gaze back to Jason, Clay asked, “What happened at the base? You all look like shit.”

As Brock sunk to the floor by Cerb, reaching out a hand in apology for calling Cerberus a bad dog, his heart on his sleeve, his eyes sought Cerb’s but lowered when his dog rebuffed him and leapt onto Spenser’s bed. He was batting a thousand, with screwing up. He exhaled shakily and turned his attention back to Jason as he responded to Clay’s inquiry.

“What do you recall?” Jason wanted to know if Clay remembered being trapped for a long time before coming clean.

“Not much. I was focused on getting sand out of places … yeah, um, I soaped up, and then the earth shook and a sonic boom. I suspect something exploded. But then you guys were there saving me. Thanks for having my six … especially when you guys were injured too.” Clay scanned Jason’s face. It looked like the result of a bar fight, but that made no sense. “Sonny, what happened to you? How bad?”

“Ain’t nothing but a little piece of shrapnel. Be out of here tomorrow.”

Clay grinned at Sonny, glad his injury wasn’t serious. “So what blew up?”

Ray sunk into one of the chairs, his head still playing the sambas. “The ammo supply.”

“Wow. Sabotage or accident?”

“Uncertain. Mandy is still investigating.”

“Anyone else hurt?” Clay watched the flicker of sorrow ghost across their eyes before being hidden behind the shields they all carried to hide their emotional pain. “Guess that is yes. Who?” Clay steeled himself for the answer. The string of sailors he knew who perished was growing too fast.

“Twelve dead … no one we knew personally. All the deceased were from the local Army, but a few of our support received minor cuts or burns,” Trent shared.

“And you guys too.”

Brock shook his head. “No. My burns are from spilled coffee.”

“Someone sucker punched me at a bar,” Ray stated, then turned to Jason. “And Jace took out six guys after the moron who wanted to fight sailors hit me.”

“Bar brawl?” Clay’s eyes shifted to Jason, surprised he had pegged the source of the injuries in the first place.

Jason only nodded, realizing very soon he would have to reveal they screwed up and he hoped it didn’t severe Spenser’s trust in them.

Turning to Trent, Clay asked, “And you?”

“After Simple Simons knocked Brock down the stairs, he slammed a door into my head. Partly my fault.”

Clay chuckled which brought shocked eyes to him as Sonny said, “What’s so funny, Sunshine?”

“Makes sense now. Simon said he injured two people today and he made me sit on a shower seat … scared of what might happen to him if a third person was hurt because of him. He didn’t tell me it was you two … but, no wonder he was willing to help me. Probably trying to make amends.”

Jason exhaled long and hard. “Speaking of amends. I need to share something important with you.”

Heaviness cloaked the room as if a storm blew in. Clay’s eyes darted around to each one of them, noting self-loathing in their expressions. He stayed silent, wondering what could be so bad as to cause the shame he saw reflected in their eyes.

“We screwed up. After dragging Sonny and another injured man out of the burning mess tent, we,” he pointed to himself, Ray, Trent, and Brock, “didn’t notice you weren’t among us as we set up triage for the many wounded, and secured the perimeter. It wasn’t until sometime later, after the most severe casualties were treated that we could go back to Sonny.

“Sonny asked where you were. It is then were realized you were missing. We raced to the showers, and Brock cut you free of the canvas. I’m sorry for failing you. My role is to ensure everyone makes it home safe. I should’ve noticed you were not there.”

“So should I. I’m truly sorry,” Ray said.

“Me too. I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me.” Trent’s head hung down.

“And me and Cerb. You would’ve been right beside us ensuring we set up security and prepared for an attack … but you weren’t and … shit, I’m screwing up big time.” Brock’s eyes moved from Clay to his dog. “I even called Cerb a bad dog tonight because you weren’t in your bed, and he was on the floor eating our dinner. I owe you both an apology … want to make amends for my stupidity.”

Clay sucked in a breath and gradually released it. “So, let me get this straight. The ammo blew up. The mess tent was on fire. There were people dying. You set up triage tending the most seriously injured first … leaving Sonny for last. And Sonny is the one who noticed I wasn’t there. And when he did, you all rushed to find me. Right?”

Jason nodded. “Sums it up.”

“Well, shit. What are you apologizing for? As far as I’m concerned, you took care of things in the proper order. I know you guys always have my six. I have ample proof of that.” He raised his hand and began lifting fingers as he started counting. “One, you disobeyed a general to save my ass when we went to recover the drone. Two, Cerb tracked me in a jungle, and you guys found me buck naked with an arrow in my ass, and Jason killed the bitch who put it there.

“Three, Ray kept me from drowning after we jumped from the biopetrol platform. Four, you kept a huge ass cat from devouring me in that cave. Five, you guys rescued me in Dongola. Six, there’s Ecuador … and that isn’t the first time you saved me from Carlson … you put my life before grabbing Nazeri.

“Seven, you had my back in Farris Gallery. Eight, Mexico … nuf said on the shit that went down there. Nine, you saved my ass again down under … and Katie’s too. Ten, Nepal, um, Tibet actually.” Giving up using fingers, having run out, Clay added, “Eleven, Ecuador again … don’t want to go there again. Twelve, DRC and RaRa. Thirteen, the Philippines … you found me in the street and kept me alive.

“Do you want me to continue? If so, I have about twenty more times each and every one of you … my brothers … have had my back. There is no reason for you to be saying you’re sorry. Absolutely no fucking reason.”

Sonny broke the tension as he drawled, “Shit, we should be charging you beer for saving your ass all the time, Sunshine.”

Clay chuckled. “You already do. I swear, by now I should be out of firsts with you guys.”

A slight smile formed on Trent’s face. “Sonny’s financing most of the beer with the way he sucks at poker.”

“And the wagers he’s stupid enough to make with Clay,” Ray interjected.

Jason raked a hand through his hair. “So, you haven’t lost trust in us over this?”

“Why the hell would I? Unless you deliberately left me … then all bets are off, and I’ll switch teams.”

“LIKE HELL YOU WILL!” Sonny shouted.

Jason finally smiled. “Think this proves the kid got under Sonny’s skin.”

“Like a poison ivy rash,” Sonny groused.

Clay recalled something Brock said. “Did you truly call Cerb a bad dog?”

“Yeah, and I feel like shit. He’s a good boy … the best.”

Cerb hopped down and nuzzled his snout under Brock’s hand, seeking a scratch behind the ears.

Brock’s fingers curled in the soft fur. “Sorry, Cerb.”

Lifting his head, Cerb licked Brock’s cheek. _Apology accepted._ He spun around three times and settled himself in Brock’s lap, content.

Still a little slow on the uptake, Clay’s mind latched onto something else Brock said as he watched Cerb getting petted. “Your dinner? That wasn’t for me?”

Trent snorted and laughed. “No worries, kid. I suspect you needed it more than us, seeing as you hadn’t eaten in well over a day, and spent numerous hours spewing out your stomach. I'm happy you enjoyed the meal.” Putting his medic hat back on, he surveyed the team. “I suggest everyone hit the rack for some sleep. Jace, after you shower, I’ll apply more aloe vera on your sunburned back.”

Jason took a seat. “Not showering tonight. Sleeping here to keep an eye on Waldo.”

Ray scrunched up his brows. “Waldo?”

Jason pointed to Spenser. “We’ve got a SEAL version of _Where’s Waldo?_ in the form of _Where’s Spenser?_  ... so not letting the kid out of my sight any time soon.”

For a moment Trent wanted to argue, but seeing Jason’s jaw set in stone, he realized there would be no changing his stubborn mind. “Okay. Tomorrow then.” He pushed off the wall he had been leaning against and went to Spenser’s bed. “Get some sleep. See ya tomorrow.” He waved at Sonny. “Goes for you too … sleep.”

Sonny gave Trent a sloppy salute as he quipped, “Aye, aye, Commander Slumber.” He smiled as he added, “Careful of Simon when you exit the door.”

Brock rose to join Ray and Trent in leaving. His mind thinking on how to make amends to Cerb. After exchanging goodnights, the three men and one dog left and the three in the room settled in for the remainder of the night, all more than ready for a long snooze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to BlindAlley05, Lifeshandful, MeganRachel, for inspiring the guy's remarks upon finding Clay gone. 
> 
> Wow, no cliffy this time. Their game of Where's Spenser? isn't over yet. 😊


	5. Simba Sneaks Off and Gets Strapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure ... contains a small steamy scene between two consenting adults ... nothing kinky (as the title might imply).

_**Six Days Later – Rota, Spain – Lo Siento Marinero Pub** _

Clay leaned back in his chair, eyeing his teammates who sorely tested his patience in the last several days. They smothered him. Hell, he couldn’t even go to take a shit or shower without at least one of them tagging along. Their ever-present presence, although bearable at first had gotten to the point he wanted to shoot them.

He was a grown man, a SEAL, and didn’t need babysitting. Yeah, he understood why they kept an eye … more like six sets of eyes on him … they still carried guilt for what happened at the remote base, not that they should, but they did. He wished he could slap some sense into them, but every attempt to sway them to let him out of their sight was met with solid refusal.

So tonight, he wanted to get sloshed … if he drank enough, perhaps he could forget he had five superfluous bodyguards. He slugged down the remainder of his sixth beer and rose. “Gonna get the next round.”

“Comin’ with ya, Simba.” Sonny stood, flicking his toothpick to the opposite side of his mouth.

Clay rolled his eyes and bit back his groan. “I think I can manage to walk alone to the bar, order beers, and walk back without getting _‘lost.’_ ” Clay made air quotes with his last word.

Jason took pity on Spenser, yeah, he recognized they had been overbearing and needed to stop before they drove the kid to do something stupid. One reason they all came out tonight to the Sorry Sailor … the kid was going stir-crazy in the barracks. “Go … but stay in sight. Sonny, down boy.”

Grumbling, Sonny sat as Clay walked towards the bar. “He goes missing it’s on you, Jace.”

Ever the voice of reason, Ray said, “We have a straight line of sight on him. What can happen?”

Brock snorted. “Almost anything with Spenser.” He toyed with his almost empty bottle, wishing Cerb could’ve come with them, but understanding the bar wouldn’t allow him inside. He smiled, thinking on all the ways he pampered the pup to make up to him.

Though he couldn’t wash Cerb himself due to the burn on his hand, the day Spenser and Sonny were released, he arranged for a doggie spa day. Sonny happily helped, standing with his weight on one leg, he soaped up Cerb and bathed him. After Cerb was dried, Brock spent an extra-long time grooming him. The hair missile lay on the padded table blissfully enjoying every stroke of the brush … which was much like a massage.

And somewhere, Brock was not quite sure, Sonny procured several stegosaurus-sized bones for Cerb to gnaw on and steak served on a silver platter. For the past six days, Cerb received the royal treatment from all of them, including Clay. The kid played fetch with Cerb for several hours each day. Though part of Brock believed that was because Spenser was sulking at not being allowed to leave the barracks and that is how he passed the time.

Jason’s phone buzzed, and he peered down at the caller and answered, “Tell me you have news, Mandy.” He listened as the rest of the guys turned their attention to him. They all were tired of sitting around … though in truth they had needed the rest to recover from their various injuries … and hoped Mandy would have a target for them soon.

Clay ordered the beer and refused to turn around, taking a moment to just breathe, glad Jason finally cut the strings. He knew without a doubt at least two sets of eyes would be on him, watching his every move, but this was better than nothing.

“Hello, sailor,” a sultry voice said in his ear.

Shifting his gaze to the left, Clay smiled at the beautiful senorita. Her raven hair fell to her mid back in soft waves. She had brown … almost black eyes that drew him in, and her ruby red lips so close to his face begged to be savored. “Hello.”

“You here alone?” Her hand snaked down his back, settling on his ass, and she squeezed.

Oh, Spenser possessed no doubt about the woman’s intentions … pheromones wafted off her leaving no question she was trolling for a sexual encounter. “Sort of, I’m Clay, … and you are?”

“Solana. We could keep each other company … at least for a little while.” She gave him another squeeze before moving her hand to his front and brushing against his bulge.

No choir boy and not dating anyone steadily or exclusively, the idea of casual sex with a willing and gorgeous woman tempted him. He would need to give his guards the slip because well, what he did with his off time didn’t concern them, and he didn’t want to put up with the second-degree or the razzing if he went over to the table and told him he was leaving with Solana and not to wait up for him.

So Clay did what Jason feared he might do … _something stupid_. He paid the barkeep and told him to deliver the beers, took one glance back, noting they were all engrossed in whatever Jason was saying, slipped his hand in Solana’s and snuck out of the Sorry Sailor. Outside, she smiled and tugged him to the right, saying she only lived around the corner.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Solana’s Place** _

No sooner had they entered did clothing start to strip off. She pulled his shirt up and off, tossing it to the side. His lips sought hers as his hand roamed over her breast. This would not be a soft and gentle coupling … they were both aroused and wanted to be skin-to-skin. Having been celibate for far too long and six beers in him tonight, Clay desired to shed his pants and boxers faster than he could manage.

Before long, they were stark naked on her bed, with Clay suckling her breast as his fingers sought the nub between her thighs. She moaned, squealed even as he slipped in. No words were needed as his lips reclaimed her plump sensual lips. She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him to her, and Clay groaned as his sword drove home.

Solana’s fingers raked down Clay’s back as she screamed for him to go faster and harder. So focused on his and her pleasure, Clay didn’t feel his skin being sliced open with her cat-like nails. With embarrassing speed, he reached his climax, and his sweaty body collapsed on Solana as he shuddered several times with satisfying aftershocks.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Lo Siento Marinero Pub** _

Brock sighed when Jason informed them Mandy confirmed for certain it the ammo supply depot had been sabotaged and she might have a lead on the group responsible. She called to give them a heads up, so they didn’t get shitfaced because they needed to be in a briefing at six in the morning.

Finishing off his beer, Brock shifted his gaze to the bar. He spotted a barmaid carrying a tray to their table. He stood, and his head swiveled around so fast, scanning the entire bar. “WHERE’S SPENSER?” erupted when Brock didn’t find a single blond head in the place.

“Oh, shit!” Trent jerked to his feet.

Sonny glared at Ray. “You just had to jinx us with your what could happen … we got a straight line of sight shit.” Shifting to Jason, he added, “And you … you let him go alone.”

Jason sighed. “I was afraid the kid would do something stupid. Shit.”

Sonny’s concern skyrocketing, anything, absolutely anything could befall the kid in Spain … he had the worst damned-luck and was a friggin trouble magnet. “And you still let him go—”

Brock barked, interrupting Sonny, “Stop … that isn’t gonna find him. He couldn’t have gone far.”

“I swear I’m gonna implant a tracker on him,” Sawyer groused.

“I’ll hold him down,” Sonny agreed. “So much for trusting the little shit. Now we’re gonna spend the rest of the night searching for him.”

Arriving at the table, the senorita smiled. “Beers have been paid for. The blond, he asked they be delivered.”

“Did you see where he went?” Jason asked.

“Si, senor. Solana … she like blonds and blue eyes. He left with her.”

“How long ago?” Ray inquired as Sonny charged like a bull for the exit with Sawyer, Hayes, and Reynolds right behind him. If looks could kill, Spenser would be dead if he didn’t find the kid first.

“Not long … she no live too far … only down the block and the corner.”

Ray got the address from her and hurried out. He met the other four outside, and Sonny was raging as expected when he couldn’t find Spenser on the street.

“I’m gonna string him up by the short hairs … Simba knows he wasn’t supposed to leave. Jace said to stay in sight … he disobeyed an order.” Sonny ranted, out of worry more than true anger … though there was a bit of annoyance at the base.

“I know where he is. Follow me,” Ray interjected.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Solana’s Place** _

Shifting off Solana, Clay rolled to his side and smiled as he caressed the senorita’s cheek peering into her sultry eyes. He leaned in to kiss her lips when the door slammed open. His head whipped to the entry, when someone bellowed, “FOUND SPENSER!”

Clay barely had time to pull a sheet over Solana, as he registered the voice as one seriously pissed off Sonny. Buck-assed naked as the day he was born, Clay gaped and stared as his brothers barged into the small studio apartment.

He scrambled to grab his shirt to cover himself and ended up tangling his legs in the sheet and landing on the floor in a heap, still uncovered. Forgetting about his state of undress, Clay shouted at them, “GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Jason stalked forward, his expression severe and unrelenting as he pinned Spenser with a heated glare. “I told you to stay in sight. And you go and sneak off with some skanky froghog.”

“What I do on _my_ time is _my_ own business.” Clay fought hard not to strike out at Jason as he balled his fist upon rising.

Ray gathered the kid’s clothes, everything except his boxers, and handed the pants to Jason.

“GET DRESSED!” Jason threw Clay’s jeans at him.

Clay let his jeans fall to the floor. “I’m staying!”

“I said dress,” came out in a dangerously low growl.

“I’m still not cleared for duty.” Clay retorted, though the tone used by Jason told Clay he played with fire by arguing when he shouldn’t, and he would pay a steep price, but damn he was sick and tired of being treated like a child. He opened his mouth to say more but stopped at Jason’s next words.

“Brock, give me your spare strap … seems our spoiled pup needs a shorter tether.”

His eyes wide, Brock handed over the nylon leash he always carried, regardless of if Cerb was with him. He used it on several occasions to harness stray dogs and take them to no-kill adoption shelters.

“LIKE HELL YOU’RE PUTTING A STRAP ON ME!” Clay backed up, searching for a way to escape, but there was no getting around five spitting-mad brothers. Sonny, Trent, Brock, and even Ray descended on him, and try as he might they overpowered him. They tugged on his pants, sans underwear, dragged the shirt over his head, and sat on him as Jason secured the lead to his belt loops.

Once released, and hauled to a standing position, still barefooted, Jason jerked on the leash as Sonny shoved him from behind. Speechless, stunned, and shocked, they would do this to him, Clay glanced at Solana and found her snickering. _Great, fucking great … my humiliation is a source of amusement to her._

Clay shuffled forward, though he didn’t go willingly as Jason pulled him out of Solana’s place. He caught Ray apologizing to Solana, as he entered the hallway and noted her neighbors peeking out of their doors. The whole situation caused him to seethe. They might be his brothers, but they were going to pay for making a spectacle of him.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Station Entry** _

The Spanish sentries at the entrance to the naval station sniggered when they spotted a man being dragged towards the base on a leash. After checking their IDs, one ventured to ask, “Why is he on a lead?”

“We don’t want to be searchin’ for a lost pup again,” Sonny answered.

Snickering, the sentry asked, “What breed is he?”

“Well, with his golden, curly hair, we think a Goldendoodle, but we’re not quite sure,” Brock said, having gotten over his shock of Jason leashing Clay and going with the flow. The kid deserved this for making them worry again.

“Nah, more like a Shar-pei.”

“Nope isn’t wrinkly enough. I’d say a Cocker Spaniel.”

Clay growled and yanked on the strap wanting to leave before he lost all self-control and started swinging at anyone in his way … brothers included.

“Do you need to muzzle him?” the guard joked as he and his buddies laughed.

“Don’t get too close, he’s a lethal working dog, and you’re pissing him off.” Jason tugged Clay forward. It was one thing for his men to tease Spenser, but he wouldn’t allow strangers to do the same.

* * *

_**Next Morning – Rota, Spain – Naval Station Briefing Room** _

Blackburn stared, not believing his eyes as Jason entered followed by a sullen Spenser … on a leash. He watched as Jason stopped at a chair, pointed and said, “Sit. Stay,” and Spenser sat.

His surprise increased as each one of others pointed at Spenser and repeated the stay command. The look Spenser gave each sent a shiver down Eric’s spine. _The kid might slaughter them all while they sleep. Oh, God, I don’t want to know what happened to cause Jason to lose his friggin’ mind._

Mandy entered and smiled at the guys, not noticing the tension in the room, nor the solid strap tied around Spenser’s midsection and the opposite end clutched in Jason’s fist.

Though Clay wanted to continue his revenge plotting, he shifted his attention to Ms. Ellis … because he was a top tier SEAL first and foremost, whether his brothers regarded him as one or not. Perhaps the best revenge would be to show them just who they were treating like an untrained puppy.

A snout nuzzled his leg, and Clay moved a hand to pet Cerb … his only friend at the moment. He got some satisfaction last night when Cerb slighted Brock and chose to curl up on his bed instead. He snuck Cerb a piece of his smoked ham at breakfast to say thanks for the solidarity.

Clay tuned in as Ellis said, “… and the group who is responsible for the sabotage has ties to the International Islam Brotherhood. Their activities were curtailed after Isaksson’s arrest netted numerous high-level people. However, the void in leadership was filled with more radicalized men. The IIB is now resorting to more traditional forms of terrorism as they try to destabilize areas so they can swoop in and take control of government positions in the unrest they create.”

“We’ve identified the sect tasked with the hit on the base. The IIB sect is run by Suwailim el-Samad.” Mandy clicked the remote and brought up the man’s photo. “We need to bring him in alive because he is not the big fish … but with interrogation, he will give me the details on the new leaders.”

She changed the image to a reddish, three-story building in what looked like a market area. “You will be doing a nighttime snatch and grab in Samara.”

“That’s in Western Sahara,” Clay stated.

“Yes. The northern part. This building we have confirmed is the headquarters for el-Samad, and he is on site. Unfortunately, we have no intel on the interior so you’ll be going in blind.”

“How many tangos we will encounter?” Jason released his grip on the strap as he leaned forward, intent on learning everything necessary to ensure they successfully executed their mission, and all his men came back alive.

After a lengthy discussion where all members contributed equally to the plan, Blackburn said, “Wheels up at sixteen hundred. Grab some sleep and something to eat.”

Clay rose to go shower … the scratches Solana left on his back were itching something awful. Trent had cleaned them last night … lecturing him on all the types of bacteria under human fingernails. He had tuned him out, still steamed about the way they dragged him back to the barracks and his humiliation in front of the sentries.

A tug on his strap halted him. He turned icy eyes on Sawyer.

“Where you going, Spenser?”

“To shower.”

“Okay.” Trent rose and fisted the leash. “I can reexamine those scratches afterward.”

“Be a good boy, or ya gonna end up in the kennel,” Sonny called out and then snickered.

Cerb growled at Sonny. _Keep teasing my boy, and I’m gonna pee in your boots._ He turned and trotted after his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the silly fun. Clay will seek revenge ... somehow, some way, probably when the guys least expect it, but he is first and foremost a SEAL so he will be concentrated on the mission to come.


	6. Unleashed Spenser Saves the Day

_**Bravo Plane In Flight** _

“He sulking.” Jason shifted in his seat as he peered up at Clay who sat all by himself at the front of the plane … his back turned to everyone.

“Do you blame him, Jace? We humiliated him.” Ray was regretting his part in last night’s snatch and grab of Spenser from Solana’s place and continuing the punishment of sorts by leashing him today until the aircraft was wheels up. He heard the sniggers from the support team … especially the reverse named Spencer, with a C, Clayton. If he had his druthers, that particular support member would be gone.

“Spenser disobeyed an order, can’t let him think he can get away with that. Spare the strap, spoil the SEAL.” Jason turned to Ray as he spoke.

“You didn’t really just say that. Clay’s not some spoiled child. He had a right to be ticked off with all our smothering. None of us would’ve put up with it as long as he did. And you … you expected him to do something stupid. Why didn’t you head it off before it happened?” Ray eyed Jason.

Jason’s gaze shifted away from the uncomfortable glare to the rear of the plane, catching bits and pieces of Clayton mocking Bravo Six. He let out a deep sigh. “Maybe shouldn’t have kept him on the lead all the way to the plane.”

“No, maybe about it. You better make sure the kid’s head is on straight … because if he isn’t thinking clearly and things go south … well, you know as well as me it can be bad, brother.”

Jason rose, wishing the mission was completed so this conversation could take place with a few beers in both of them.

Sitting as far away from everyone as he could manage, earbuds in place, music blaring to drown out any of the jokes being told at his expense, Clay did his best to reassess the entire situation. He looked at it from several perspectives … and came to a straightforward conclusion.

The hand on his shoulder caused Clay to startle and turn to find out who invaded his self-imposed isolation. He almost groaned as Jason sat on the crate beside him. He pulled out his earbuds and turned off his music as he studied Jason’s face.

Before his Master Chief could speak, Clay said, “Look, I screwed up not telling you I was leaving and sneaking out like a teenager. Then again in refusing to go back with you all and arguing with you. I thought about how I just went with Solana.

“Hell, I didn’t know her … she could’ve been anyone … another Arcilla. I could be dead filled with arrows in my back … instead of scratch marks. I worried you guys … and I shouldn’t have behaved like that doesn’t matter. It does. If the tables were turned … I might’ve done what you guys did. With one major exception.”

Jason nodded, surprised by Spenser’s admission. “What would you have done differently?”

Clay glanced behind him before returning his gaze to Jason. “Never would’ve humiliated any of my brothers in front of the support team. What’s between us six … stays between us.” Clay exhaled heavily.

“Yeah, took it too far. I can go shut them up if you want.”

“No. It’ll die down … someday.”

“Is your mind in the game? If not … I need you to sit this one out for everyone’s safety.”

“I’m good.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Sorry for being a pain in the ass.” Clay released a long breath.

Jason chuckled and patted Clay’s shoulder. “At least you are aware you are one … more than Sonny will admit to being. And actually, it is one of the reasons you fit in so well with Bravo. Your team leader is a pain in the ass too … at least according to Ray.”

“If the shoe fits …” Clay chuckled.

“We good?” Jason’s words came with an outstretched hand.

Expecting a handshake, Clay gripped Jason’s hand, but found himself pulled to his feet and into short but powerful hug along with Jason whispering, “Sorry kid, just don’t pull that shit again … I’m getting too old and might suffer a heart attack.”

Jason released Clay with two light slaps on his back, stepped back, and waited for the kid’s response.

“We’re good.” Clay remained standing as Jason strolled away, and a strange thought crossed his mind. _So that is what it is like to have a dad who cares about me._ He shook his head, dislodging the fanciful notion, and replaced dad with older brother. But the little boy who lived in the inner recess of his mind and craved a caring father snatched the word and held it fast.

* * *

_**Samara, Western Sahara – Observation Location** _

Bravo moved with stealth under cover of darkness to the location from which they would recon the target building. With no details on the interior or solid numbers on the number of tangos, Jason decided it would be prudent for his team to observe tonight and tomorrow before executing the snatch and grab.

Luckily, Mandy’s contact identified an abandoned store across the street and to the south of el-Samad’s headquarters. Entering the ground level, they efficiently cleared the area then Jason ordered, “Three, Four, set the sneak cams then maintain guard on this floor. Five, Six, clear the third floor and set up overwatch. Two and I will clear the second level and set up the surveillance equipment.”

The men moved out to comply, four heading up the narrow stairs at the back of the store to what used to be the living quarters of the former owners. Jason and Ray broke off from Clay, Brock, and Cerb to clear their floor.

Jason chose the pairings carefully tonight. Clay and Sonny were still at odds because Quinn rode Spenser a little too hard about leaving the bar. Jason wasn’t kidding when he told Clay that Sonny could be a pain, and in this case, the Texan’s concern made him overbearing. Something Jason never imagined would happen when he told his number three to take care of the rookie on their first deployment.

Sending Clay with Brock made sense because Cerb had been shunning Brock in preference of Spenser which hit Reynolds hard. On the flight, it was Brock who was the first besides him to go check in with the Poster Boy and make amends. He overheard Clay asking why Brock carried an extra leash, and the kid smiled as Brock explained his rescue efforts. So yeah, that pairing was best for tonight.

“Second floor clear,” Jason reported. He kept guard as Ray started pulling out the recon scopes, in case Five and Six encountered any unexpected occupants.

Clay and Brock entered the last room of the third level, and Cerb pulled on his lead … heading for a closet … alerting them. With hand signals, the two communicated. Brock reached out a hand to grasp the knob while Clay positioned himself to deal with whoever was inside. Cerb stood at the ready to attack if given the command.

After silently mouthing a countdown, “Three, Two, One,” Brock yanked open the door.

Cerb surged forward with a bark. Something small flew out with a screech. Cerb barked again and lunged towards Clay intending on protecting his boy. Unfortunately, the Siamese cat used Clay’s legs as an escape route, clawing its way up his body to his head and then leaping to the top of a tall empty shelving unit.

In the split second it took for them to realize it was only a cat, Brock pulled Cerb back, but that didn’t save Spenser from a plethora of scratches on his legs, arms and a few on his neck, cheek, and the crown of his head. Clay whirled away muttering, “Damned cats … large or small they always attack me.”

Brock reported in, “Third floor clear … except for one extremely scared and hacked-off cat.”

“Copy. Set up overwatch and settle in,” Jason instructed.

Clay glared at the feline, before striding out of the room to the front of the building to maintain watch at one of the windows. Brock followed him tugging Cerb who still wanted to take a chunk out of the cat. He closed the door to prevent the angry mouser from antagonizing Cerb further.

Entering the room Brock moved close to Clay, wanting to check on him but not appear overbearing … they had done enough hovering with unintended disastrous results. He had gone to Clay in the plane after the sanctimonious support member, Spencer Clayton, wouldn’t shut his mouth and kept spewing one stupid joke after another. He either went to Clay and tried to repair their relationship or strangled Spencer with a C. Righting things with his subdued brother took precedence.

Keeping his tone light, Brock asked, “You alright?”

“Yeah, only a couple of little scratches. Nothing serious. I’m fine. I’ll take watch. You rack out first.” Clay wiped the drip of blood from the stinging cut near his hairline.” He promptly forgot about the minor scratches and began scanning the target building and the street for movements.

Brock let the issue lie like a sleeping dog. He should remind Spenser to clean the cuts with an antiseptic wipe, something Trent would do but decided it wasn’t worth the potential strain it might cause on their renewed sense of ease. He settled on the floor near Cerb to grab a few hours of shut-eye, knowing Spenser would wake him in a few hours to switch off … and Cerb would alert him before he would allow the kid disappear again.

* * *

_**Next Day – Samara, Western Sahara – Target Location** _

“Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast. Fast is lethal,” Jason said as they left their observation location and slipped into the shadows. Once again Bravo stealthily moved through the night. Their surveillance over the past twenty-four hours netted them the results they needed to make a workable plan. They faced no more than twelve tangos and re-confirmed the presence of el-Samad.

Working as a well-oil machine, all gears turning in together, Bravo entered the headquarters. The only unknowns now were the layout of the interior and exact location of their HVT. They encountered no one on the street level and moved to the only stairs to ascend to the second. On that floor, they split off with Sonny, Ray, and Trent tasked with searching that level, while Clay, Jason, Brock, and Cerb continued up the steps to the third floor.

Moments after attaining the top floor, a scream erupted from a man surprised by Sawyer in the john, when he swung the door open. Alerted, the rest of the household roused, gathered arms, and the quiet night ended with sounds of gunfire.

On point, Clay swacked four tangos as they came out of their rooms firing at them. Swiftly they moved down the hall, clearing as they eliminated the remaining two who came at them. As they reached the last room, Ray reported, “Second floor clear. No joy on HVT.”

“Copy,” Jason replied as the three men and dog prepared to enter, Brock unhooking the hair missile’s strap from his waist, ready to let him subdue el-Samad.

Entering, they found the room empty and what appeared to be an escape ladder leading to the roof. Closest, Clay started to scurry up the wooden rungs. Jason began to follow, but the rotted rungs snapped under his weight, sending him to the ground. Clay poked his head out and scanned the rooftop, “He’s squirting.” Hauling himself up, Clay sprinted in the same direction as he said, “Going south … shit, he just vaulted to the next building. Pursuing.”

Frustrated he couldn’t join Spenser on the roof, Jason pivoted and rushed down the steps as he called out orders for the rest to follow on the street. Clay maintained contact with them, supplying the direction el-Samad went. The man turned out to be speedy and possibly a parkour enthusiast as he leapt from building to building, using the infrastructure to his advantage, trying to slip his tail.

Clay didn’t give up and gained on his quarry. Sweat-drenched, glad to be wearing gloves, Clay pushed off the latest structure and secured a hold on the rope, swinging to the next. His feet barely held purchase on the edge of the roof as he swayed backward, but compensated, regained his balance, and raced after el-Samad.

When el-Samad soared across a significant gap, Spenser swallowed his good sense and sped up, hoping like hell he would make it across the span, not come up short and slam into the dirt three stories down. His eyes never left his target … determined to not let the man responsible for killing twelve soldiers and injuring several more slip from their grasp. If Mandy didn’t need to interrogate him, Clay would be happy to shoot the bastard to end this impromptu obstacle course.

Due to the momentum of his landing, Clay did a shoulder roll, coming to his feet in one smooth motion, and smiled when el-Samad paused to check behind him. The look of stunned disbelief on the man’s face, when his pursuer successfully made the leap, was worth the risk. But the shock on el-Samad’s face when Spenser tackled him, was priceless.

They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, and although el-Samad squirmed, he didn’t possess the stamina or strength to get out of Spenser’s hold. Winded, Clay rested a knee in the small of el-Samad’s back as he zip-tied the man’s wrists behind his back. When he finished, Clay swiped at the sweat running into his eyes and keyed his comms. “Jackpot. HVT alive and secured.” He went on to provide his location and waited for his brothers to arrive.

* * *

_**Bravo Plane** _

Mandy grinned as the hooded figure was led up the ramp by Spenser with Jason right behind him. “You got him?”

“The kid did. Spenser unleased is a force to be reckoned with. If not for his Spartan-like determination, speed, and agility, el-Samad would've been long gone.” Jason slapped Clay on the shoulder as the subject of his compliment steered their HVT inside. Though he stopped next to Mandy when she spoke.

“What happened?” Mandy inquired.

“Well, seems we got us a Spiderman on Bravo Team,” Sonny drawled as he stopped on the ramp. “Should’ve seen Spenser swinging on a rope between buildings. And his last soaring leap … I swear if he slipped and fell, I was gonna slay Spidey myself.”

Mandy’s eyes scrunched. “What?”

Sonny moved forward, leaving it to Jason to explain what they saw. He needed a beer … or two … or six. He bit his tongue on the ride back, but underneath he was seething again at the risks the kid took. He witnessed almost every jump, leap, swing, and near fall as Spenser followed the HVT across the structures.

As Sonny dropped his gear bag in the center of the aircraft, he caught laughter behind him. The recognizable smart-ass voice spurred his aggravation to new heights. He spun on his heel and shoved Spencer with a C into the side of the plane as he shouted, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHITHEAD.”

Self-righteous and not one to back down, Spencer glared at the surly Texan, as he sneered, “What? I’m only saying what everyone already knows. Clay is the biggest fucking screw-up I’ve ever seen. He was bottom fived for a reason and doesn’t deserve to be here. Hell, he must’ve fucked up royally since you guys led him in on a strap. Can’t believe he was allowed to go on the mission. He’s gonna get one of you killed … maybe even shoot you in the back if you’re not careful.”

“WHAT HAPPENS WITHIN BRAVO IS NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS. SHUT YOUR SMARMY MOUTH OR I’LL STUFF YOUR TEETH DOWN YOUR THROAT.”

Spencer Clayton snorted. “LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY.”

The strike which decked Spencer came so fast, it left Sonny slack-jawed as the sailor slumped in a heap on the metal grating. He shifted his eyes and started snickering as Sawyer shook out his hand. “Damn, Trent, why’d ya do that?”

“He had it coming. No one, and I mean no one, slanders Six and gets away unscathed.”

“No, I what I meant is … you spoiled my fun. I wanted to slug the shitiot. The slack-witted sperm bag deserved a set-down.”

Trent flexed his stinging hand. “Think I might’ve busted a knuckle … worth it though.”

Blackburn sighed. He was gonna have to put a stop to this before someone ended up seriously injured. Tensions were running too high, especially if their medic sucker-punched a smart-mouthed support member. He released another strangled sigh and strode forward to deal with this latest stress-filled situation.

Up front, having secured the HVT, Clay overheard the shouting match between Quinn and Clayton. He turned in time to witness Sawyer smash a sledgehammer fist into the sanctimonious sailor’s jaw. Clay shook his head and sank onto a seat as Blackburn strode to the rear.

Ray sat next to Clay. “Sorry, brother. He wouldn’t be talking shit if I spoke up sooner to Jason and put a stop to the whole leash thing.”

“Trent’s not gonna get in trouble is he?”

“No. Knowing Blackburn he will solve the issue without serious repercussions. Likely only a slap on the wrist.” Ray noticed the scratches on Clay’s face and neck. “You get those chasing el-Samad?”

“Get what?”

“The cuts on your neck, forehead, and cheek.”

“No … a scared Siamese cat gave them to me. No big deal.” Clay slumped in his seat. “I could sleep for a full day.”

Ray chuckled. “Right there with you. We’ll be on the way back to Spain soon. You can hang a hammock and rack out.” Another chuckle emitted as he teased, “Or just shoot a string of webbing and hang from the ceiling, Spiderman.”

Clay groaned. “Sonny gave me another nickname. When will it stop?”

Ray patted Clay’s thigh. “Brother, nicknames are a sign of endearment. Means Sonny cares. Suspect it won’t ever stop, cause once you get under Sonny’s skin, there is no getting out.”

A smile and laugh burst forth as Clay said, “A life sentence then?”

“Exactly.”

“I guess I can live with that.” Clay turned to peer at his obnoxious big brother who he wouldn’t trade for the world, as Sonny spoke with Blackburn, Jason, and Trent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like situations where Clay shines too ... he is a SEAL after all ... hope you do to and enjoyed this chapter ... more "Where's Spenser?" and whump to come.


	7. Up Shit Creek Without A Paddle

_**Seven Days Later – Rota, Spain – Naval Station – Bravo Barracks** _

Seven sweaty, sandy, and weary SEALs, Cerb included, shuffled into the barracks assigned to Bravo for a much-needed shower, sleep, and food … in that specific order. While not a typical SEAL location, the naval station in Rota became their base of operation while they executed a series of snatch and grabs all over Northern Africa. They had been in a different country every night including Sulima, Sierra Leonne; Soudj, Senegal; Sangrave, Mauritania; Sirte, Libya; Sandare, Mali. And this morning they were returning from Silet, Algeria.

The first man they grab, el-Samad sang like a songbird once Mandy began interrogating him. Suwailim el-Samad, an educated man, attended university in the United States and had been recruited by his sociology professor to join the IIB. He became disillusioned with their efforts with the change in leadership, didn’t like the more radical approach, didn’t believe setting off bombs to be a civilized way to affect change, and so readily shared names and locations of various sects.

Last night’s raid, netted them Sidqi al-Shakoor, a higher-level IIB commander. With any luck, al-Shakoor would provide key details which would be the undoing of the entire IIB network. But unlike el-Samad, al-Shakoor was a die-hard believer in the current strategy, and it would take time for them to glean useable information from the man.

Outside his shower stall, Clay stripped off his sand-filled, stinking clothing and stepped into the welcome warm water. In the last three days, he had not slept much … like everyone else … and he was beyond fatigued. All he wanted was to rinse off the layer of sand, crawl into his bunk, and sleep. His body ached, along with his head. He remained hotter than usual, and his throat was a little irritated from breathing in sand during the last mission.

After soaping up, and running his hand over his upper thigh, he noticed it seemed a tad swollen. Bending over, he examined his leg and found several reddened areas with little crusty blisters. He chalked it up to all the chafing of the sand. His overwatch perch had been the top of a dune nearest to their exfil point, and he had been relegated to staying put and protecting his brothers as they snagged al-Shakoor … his excessive tiredness not unnoticed by Jason or Trent … but then again, they were all exhausted.

Clay rinsed, and rested his forehead on the side, allowing water to cascade down his still-healing back. The score-marks Solana left still itched although they had scabbed over. Trent slapped his hand each time he tried to scratch them, reminding him of the bacteria he could introduce.

Sonny had come through for him in the form of a backscratcher which Trent approved of him using if absolutely necessary. He and his obnoxious older brothers, yes plural, had come to a simple understanding and made amends with one another. Though, not entirely happy with the deal, he promised while in a foreign country and during off time to alert them of his plans, and in exchange, they would stop smothering him.

Shutting off the water, Clay reached for his towel and used it to rub his itching back. After drying and pulling on clean boxers, Clay shuffled out of the bathroom area into the eight-bed room. He headed straight for his bunk and plopped face first into his pillow, not bothering to pull the sheet or blanket over him because he was still hot. He dropped into sleep within seconds, oblivious to the others around him.

Trent exited the shower area, and on his way to his own bed, he stopped and viewed Spenser’s back. He let out a chuckle as he studied the fingernail tracks.

“Whatcha chucklin’ about?” Sonny asked as he steered himself to his cot, ready as all of them for some well-deserved sleep in a non-swinging bed. His hammock was comfortable, but for the last seven days, that is the only place they slept. They would return, restock, strategize on the next location, saddle up, and fly to their destination, then do the snatch mission.

Trent sunk onto his bed after pulling the sheets back. “Just thinking Spenser is lucky those scratches don’t leave scars. Can’t imagine when he eventually finds a steady girl again, she would appreciate another woman’s marks on her man.”

“True.” Sonny yawned and peered longingly at his mattress, but his stomach rumbled, and he decided to grab something to eat before sacking out. “Gonna head over to the cantina, you want anything?”

“Nope. Only sleep … food later.” Trent laid down and settled in, tugging the lightweight sheet over his body as the AC turned on, sending a cool blast of air over his body.

Brock, Cerb, who had joined Brock in the shower for a rinsing, Jason, and Ray sauntered in, each obtaining their beds as Sonny offered to bring them something back. All declined, preferring slumber to satisfying their hunger. Within minutes the room was silent except for light snoring coming from several of the exhausted occupants.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Station – Cantina** _

Sonny smiled as he spied the short line … a quick bite to eat, and bed sounded like a super plan. He loaded up on sausages, scrambled eggs with spinach and salsa, fresh strawberries, and two slices of sourdough toast slathered with butter and sprinkled with cinnamon. He made his way to a table on the south side, away from the majority of people, needing a little solitude … not up to carrying on a conversation with anyone.

He dug into his breakfast with gusto, not paying attention to those around him. Snippets of words drifted to his ears, and when he heard the name Spenser combined with laughter, he swiveled his head, ready to defend his little brother … still feeling like shit for shaming Clay in front of the support team.

His grandninny would surely twist his ear and set him in the corner for a long spell for pulling a stunt like that … she wouldn’t be impressed. And neither would Lisa if she got wind of the way they treated Spenser. Davis had a soft spot for the kid, as they all did, and she would make them all pay for their shenanigans. Though she would also blister Clay’s ear for going off with a strange woman in a foreign country … so they all decided not to tell Davis any of this.

Sonny found Rob and several of the support members sitting at the table behind them. He smiled when he realized the Spenser they were speaking about was Spencer Clayton, not Clay Spenser. He returned to his meal as he listened to them joking about how the guy was a one-hit wonder. One slug from Trent and he was down for the count, and the same thing happened with Rob several months back.

Learning Spencer called Clay the Curse of Bravo had set the entire team off. It was during Clay’s rehab, right after Swanny committed suicide. Everyone was in a seriously fucked-up headspace, and they all wanted to beat the shit out of Spencer Clayton. And although Blackburn sought to transfer the shit for brains with a snarky mouth, the asswipe made such a stink with Commander Shaw that in order to save Rob’s position as support team leader, Blackburn had to back off from the transfer.

It appeared the support team still didn’t care for Spencer’s smarmy mouth. And no one was surprised Trent didn’t get in trouble for striking Spencer … Commander Shaw was no longer in the picture or held sway over who was or was not on Bravo. In fact, Spencer was the one to receive the proverbial slap on the wrist for provoking the action with his spurious remarks about Bravo Six.

Spencer had been singled-out and on the receiving end of a spontaneous and severe lecture from Blackburn about his role on the support team. Quinn could still hear Balckburn’s stern rebuke as he scolded the shitiot. Their lieutenant commander reiterated in many ways how easy and fast he could transfer Spencer if he didn’t learn to keep his sharp tongue silent, refrain from spewing spiteful comments, and stop his sophomoric and scurrilous behavior because anyone who subverted team cohesion would be sent packing from Bravo support.

Blackburn used a baseball metaphor when he told Spencer he had two strikes against him, and if he ever spoke out of turn or caused disruption in the team again, it would be his last strike, and he would be out and gone so fast his head would be spinning. He also remarked that his shitty attitude would be documented in his file and if he struck out, it would likely be the end of his SEAL career because no other team would select him.

As Sonny scooped up the last of his eggs, Rob sat next to him and said, “Thought you would be sleeping already?”

“Stomach insisted on food first.”

Rob nodded. “Haven’t had a chance to talk to you in the last week, but wanted to let you know something.”

Sonny eyed Rob as he munched on his cinnamon toast.

Running a hand through his hair, Rob said, “Spoke with Spencer. Suggested to him he might do better on another support team, and it might be wise to transfer before he ruins his career. He’s a damned fine sniper, his only problem is his anti-social behavior and his strange belief he is a better operator than his reverse namesake.”

After washing down his meal with water, Sonny asked, “So, he leaving?”

Rob smiled. “Soon. I just signed his request this morning. Still needs to be processed, but he’ll only be with us for a few more missions.”

“Good to hear.” Sonny yawned.

“Look, I’ll let you finish your meal in peace … and grab some shut-eye. You guys have been run ragged in the past seven days.”

Sonny chuckled. “What we live for … bringing down the bad guys and keepin’ the world safer.”

As Rob stood to return to his table, Sonny snagged a sausage and rose with his empty tray … his hunger satiated, he now craved a long siesta. He sauntered out with a smile … the shitiot wouldn’t be around much longer, and that was worth celebrating with a few beers tonight.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Station – Bravo Barracks** _

Sonny had just settled in for a long summer’s nap, his eyes only barely shutting when a door slammed open, and Blackburn’s loud voice filled the room.

“Sorry boys, need to wake you.” Eric regretted having to do this, his men needed a solid seven hours of undisturbed sleep, but they would be getting only the little bit they achieved up until this point.

Jason rolled over and blinked his eyes. “What?”

The rest of them moved like sloths as they shifted to seated positions.

“We have one chance to snag the person above al-Shakoor. We’re wheels up in thirty minutes. Support has stowed your gear, get dressed and you’ll be briefed on the plane.”

Clay stifled a groan as he sluggishly rose to dress. He rubbed his stiff neck and found another crusty blister-like sore. _Maybe sandflies … or some other bug bite._ Ignoring his aches and pains, he did his best to dress as swiftly as the others, but came in last, still shoving his feet into his boots as the others minus Sonny started to shuffle out, intending to grab a coffee at least before boarding.

“Simba, you feeling alright?” Sonny asked as he noted Clay’s slower than normal movements.

“Yeah, just tired like the rest of you. And the Spanish summer heat is draining too and well, … anyway, yeah I’m fine.” Clay tied his laces and stood.

Sonny squinted as he studied the kid. The building was cold by anyone’s standards … maybe seventy-six degrees at most with the AC going full blast. He decided to keep a closer eye on Spenser, as he swung his arm over Clay’s shoulders and said, “Want some spectacular news.”

Clay turned his head towards Sonny. “Blackburn’s rousing is only a stupid joke, and we can go back to sleep.”

“Nah, even better. Spencer Clayton requested a transfer. He’ll be sailing off into the sunset in a short while. Won’t have to put up with his shit no more.”

“Still think going to sleep would be better … but that is a close second.” Clay smiled and shrugged out from under Sonny’s arm. He was hot enough without a Texan furnace adding to his discomfort.

Falling in behind Clay as they shambled off to board the aircraft, Sonny couldn’t shake the sense something was off with the kid. He did seem to be a little warmer than usual … but that could be anything. A talk with Trent might be in order.

* * *

_**Aircraft En Route to Niger** _

Clay’s headache grew all through the briefing and planning session. He was glad it was over, and he could hang his hammock to grab a few hours of shut-eye. After he picked a spot in the smaller and more cramped aircraft, he decided he needed some relief, so approached their medic. “Hey, Trent?”

As Trent finished tying his hammock string to the side of the plane, he said, “Yeah?”

“Um, can I get a couple of Excedrin?” Clay shifted from one foot to the other, trying not to scratch his upper thigh which now itched worse than his back had.

Trent peered at Clay, noting again the way the kid squinted. “Headache?” When Clay nodded, he said, “Sure, give me a sec, though. Sonny wanted to speak to me, but we haven’t had a chance since leaving. I’ll bring them to you when I’m done.”

“K.” Clay turned and headed for his swinging bed, so ready to sack out. After climbing in, he shut his eyes, and his mind swirled on their upcoming mission. Mandy learned the detail of a meeting when she examined the laptop the guys snagged from al-Shakoor’s place when they snatched him last night.

Sabaah el-Sylla, who according to el-Samad, was one of IIB’s inner circle, would be in the village of Simir in Niger tonight only. Typically, the man stayed in his secluded and heavily guarded compound in Niamey, the capital of Niger, but with the chaos Bravo wreaked this past week for IIB sects in Northern Africa, el-Sylla called a meeting in what he believed to be a secure and isolated location about fifty miles away.

They now rode in a different plane, one which would land at Diori Hamani International Airport under the guise of a humanitarian mission. However, before the aircraft touched down, Bravo would HALO jump near Simiri. They would hike in, do recon, perform the snatch and grab, then trek about two miles outside the village where support would be waiting for them with indigenous vehicles procured in Niamey. They would drive the hour and a half to the airport, sneak al-Sylla aboard their plane, and be in the air returning to Spain before anyone was the wiser.

A tap on his shoulder had Clay opening his eyes. He found not only Trent but Sonny and Jason too. And Trent didn’t only have the analgesics he asked for ... nope, he came with his Spenser medkit. Clay let out a sigh.

“Simba, you’re not looking so hot … but you felt sorta warmer than usual.” Sonny held the bag for Trent as the medic opened it and withdrew a temporal artery thermometer.

“You feeling sick?” Jason crossed his arms.

“No … got a headache. Asked Trent for meds.” Under Jason’s glare, Clay sighed again. “Not hiding anything. Learned that lesson long ago when I had the kidney infection. I’m just tired and sore, but aren’t we all after the week we’ve had?”

Trent used the thermometer and read the temp. “Slightly elevated, ninety-nine point six.”

“So a low-grade fever. Could the scoring on his back be infected and causing it?” Jason asked.

“No, they’re healing fine. Checked his back after his shower.” Trent dug for the analgesic and shook out the proper dosage. “Any other symptoms … anything?”

Clay shook his head and then recalled his leg. “My upper thigh is a little red and swollen. I found a couple of crusty blisters … think all the sand that got into my pants rubbed the area raw and caused that, though.”

Trent arched his brow as he handed over the meds.

After swallowing the pills with water provided by Jason, he met Trent’s gaze and interpreted its meaning. “Oh, come on. I’m not dropping my drawers and letting you prod me here.” His eyes flicked to the rear where support was sitting. “I’ve been humiliated enough in front of them.”

“We can do it with you cooperating or the hard way,” Jason said.

Clay didn’t want either; he wanted sleep. He remembered the other little blister on his neck and pointed to it. “They look like this. I’m sure it is only a bug bite.”

Trent switched on his penlight and examined the yellowish blister. He slipped on a glove and palpated around the area. “Sore or tender to the touch?”

“No,” Clay answered truthfully. He raked fingers through his mop, pulling his hair off his forehead.

Trent brushed Clay’s hair back when he spotted two more at his hairline.

“Our boy is hitting puberty … he’s got pimples,” Sonny joked to lighten the mood.

“What do you think it is?” Jason ignored Sonny’s jest.

“Not sure. Could be bug bites as Clay thinks. Should keep an eye on them … make sure they don’t become infected. Take a wait and see approach.”

“He good for the mission?”

“I’m just tired, like everyone. Need some sleep, and my headache will be gone.”

“I’m asking Trent … so shut it.” Jason eyed Clay who snapped his mouth shut.

“Unless anything drastic changes before we jump, I’d say yeah. We’ve all operated with low fevers and minor infections on occasion.” Trent tapped Clay’s head. “You tell me if anything changes and if you still have a headache when we wake.”

“Yeah, okay. Can I go to sleep now?”

“Finish this first.” Jason handed the water bottle back to Spenser. “You’ll need to drink more to stay hydrated with a fever.”

"Sure." Clay took the bottle and guzzled it down. Happy he didn’t have to be subjected to taking off his pants in front of the support team when Trent and Jason strolled off. He glanced at Sonny as he downed the last of the water. “You’re not gonna hover, are you? You need sleep too.”

Concern still played in Sonny’s features as he recalled the first time Clay had been sick … they all thought he boarded the plane drunk and didn’t take the time to listen, creating a situation where the kid didn’t feel he could tell them the truth. He hoped that was all in the past, but he needed to make sure. “You can be honest with us, Speedy Gonzales. We can catch the HVT if he squirts … even though you’re the fastest runner. Missing a mission ‘cause your sick is acceptable, and none of us will think less of you.”

Clay chuckled. The new nicknames never ended. Thanks to Ray, he understood why Sonny used them. “I am, and I will be. Now, I’m going to sleep and you should too.” He shut his eyes and could tell Sonny stayed there from several more moments before walking away. Somehow he had been fortunate to be drafted by Bravo. And though they could be a royal pain in the neck, he had brothers he never imagined he would have … Clay drifted off thanking his lucky stars.

* * *

_**Simir, Niger – Various Locations** _

The shit hit the fan shortly after Bravo entered the target building and Jason radioed they found a dry hole. No HVT on site. From his overwatch perch, Clay called out, “Bravo Six to One. You have dozens of tangos amassing on your pos. Shit, they’re coming out of multiple buildings. This was a setup. They suckered us in.”

Taking up defensive positions, Jason keyed his comms, “Bravo One to Sierra One … move in. We need immediate exfil at the secondary locations.”

Rob romped on the gas of the larger van he was driving as he replied, “Roger. On our way. Four mics out. Sierra Seven, you take exfil pos B. Sierra Two hold at the rendezvous pos.” Rob hoped he wasn’t making a mistake sending Spencer to get Spenser, but the sedan was the fastest of the two remaining vehicles and Bravo Six’s secondary exfil location was the furthest distance from here.

“Copy,” Spencer Clayton, aka Sierra Seven, drove off in the opposite direction.

“One, I can cover your exfil.” Clay aimed, waiting for Jason’s response.

“Two mics and then you bug out, Six. We’re throwing smoke.” Jason grabbed a smoke bomb and prepared to lob it out the window.

“Copy.” Clay began taking out tangos, ensuring his brothers’ path remained as clear as possible. Two minutes later, as Bravo One through Five were sprinting toward their exfil point, Clay stood, pivoted and headed for the stairs. As he raced down them, he heard shouting outside the building and realized his shooting had given away his sniper position.

Clay scanned and spotted a window on the south side … away from the tangos. He slipped through it right as six insurgents burst into the room and sprayed the area with bullets. His heart sped up at his close call when several whizzed by his head. Keeping low, he made it to a short adobe wall and hopped over.

“Six to One, working on getting to exfil B. My path is blocked by a bunch of unfriendlies. Might be a little late to the party.” He skirted several structures, searching for a new path but each time he thought he found a route more tangos showed up. He was up shit creek without a paddle or even a damned canoe.

“Copy … watch your back, Six.” Jason halted at the edge of the building close to exfil point A. The kid saved their bacon tonight. Having him in a sniper perch almost a half mile away was the right strategy since they didn’t have ISR overhead, although he hated leaving him alone. As the van came into sight, Jason motioned to his men. “Let’s get the hell outta Dodge.”

* * *

_**Simir, Niger – Exfil A** _

Sierra One skidded to a stop in the red gravel as Sierra Three and Four whipped open the rear doors and laid down cover fire. In a haze of bullets coming from both directions, Ray, Sonny, Brock, Cerb, Jason, and finally Trent, who had been bringing up the rear, surged into the back of the utility-sized van. With dozens of insurgents bearing down on their position, they couldn’t stay put, so Rob floored it and sped off, putting distance between themselves and certain death, heading for the rendezvous location.

Jason’s attention turned to Trent, who knocked into him as he slumped forward unexpectedly. In the crush of the cramped space, Jason gripped him, to help push him upright. Concern spiked when his hand came in contact with something sticky and warm as his medic’s head lolled to his chest … unconscious. “Shit, Trent’s been hit. Give me a hand.”

Ray, Sonny, and Brock went into action, slipping off Trent’s pack and gear as Cerb and the support guys squeezed together, trying to make enough room to lie Trent flat as Jason searched for the source of the blood. Everyone’s efforts hard to do in a speeding van on the bumpy road … which wasn’t truly a road. When the insurgents were well behind them, Jason said, “Rob, stop. Trent’s bleeding out to damned fast. I gotta find the bleeder and stop it.”

After the vehicle came to a controlled stop, Jason cut away Trent’s shirt, and located the wound … or more correctly wounds, shot three times, once in the shoulder above his vest, a through and through in his upper arm, and a slug still in his side below his body armor. He now understood why the significant amount of blood. With assistance from Sonny, Jason applied pressure dressings to stop the flow as Ray started an IV to replenish Trent’s volume. 

* * *

_**Simir, Niger – Exfil B** _

Clay pulled himself over another wall, scaled a structure, sprinted across the roof, leapt across to another abode, dropped down to a wall about as wide as a log and balanced as he traversed the obstacle and continued his mad dash to his exfil point … his actions somewhat reminding him of the BUD/S obstacle course. Though his life never hung in the balance when running on the beach near San Diego.

He came to an abrupt halt, pivoted, and scanned for another alternative when six insurgents appeared around a corner. He was screwed if they looked up or if he couldn’t make it to the exfil location. Sweat dripping down his face and drenching his shirt, Clay did the only thing possible to him at this moment, stayed absolutely still and prayed they didn’t see him. He slowed his breathing, trying to be as silent as possible.

When they moved off, Clay jump for the roof of the next building, his arms outstretched hoping he had enough force behind him to grasp the edge … he didn’t. Clay slid down the rough stone wall and landed with his left hand awkwardly taking the brunt of his weight. A soft hiss escaped as he brought his arm close to his chest, knowing at a minimum, he sprained his wrist.

With no time to even wrap it, Clay surveyed his surroundings, scaling a wall again would be difficult one-handed. He spotted several barrels and wooden crates. He moved to them and dragged one barrel closer to the wall. Picking up a box with his uninjured hand, he winced as a sharp splinter pierced his glove and drove deep into his palm.

 _Shit, I’m batting a thousand tonight._ Though it hurt to use his left fingers, he plucked out the splinter and stacked the sturdy crate on top of the barrel. He managed to climb up, and haul himself up onto the wall, straddling it as he scanned again. He spotted a speeding sedan approaching his exfil position. Now he only had to make it around three more obstacles and across an open span of desert to reach relative safety.

As he slid off onto the other side, the landing vibrated his wrist and sent shooting pains through his forearm. He sprinted, hoping like hell he was fast as Sonny latest nickname for him, _Speedy Gonzales_. He wasn’t scampering after an HVT this time … he was trying to save his own skin. Spenser ignored, as well as he could, the pain in his wrist, holding it tightly pressed to his side to reduce the jarring.

Rounding the last wall, having spotted a gate which didn’t require him to climb, but took him much further south than he wanted, ready to pour every ounce of energy he had left in his tank to sprint to his destination, Clay abruptly stopped and gaped. “SHIT!”

* * *

_**Simir, Niger – Exfil Rendezvous Location** _

Reaching the third vehicle at the rendezvous pos, Rob slowed and halted. They had lost a bit of time, with their short delay earlier for Jason to treat Trent and he expected the sedan to be here already. As the doors opened, and his men spilled out of the back, Rob called over to Scott, his 2IC, “Any word from Sierra Seven?”

 Scott shook his head. “Not yet.”

Ray, Brock, and Cerb exited, giving Jason and Sonny more room to work on Trent as Jason pulled out the field blood transfusion kit after Trent’s blood pressure dropped. Worried as Sawyer went into shock, they stood at the rear watching as Jason prepared their brother for a transfusion.

Several minutes later a bullet-riddled sedan pulled to a halt behind the van. Sierra Seven slowly exited and started towards Rob. His hand clasped over his left bicep, blood seeping between his fingers.

Ray spotted the support member, noting the blood. His gut seized as he rushed forward, his eyes moving to scan the interior for their kid since he didn’t exit the car. Coming to a stop beside Spencer, and failing to see Clay, Ray shoved Sierra Seven, slamming him into the car’s front side-panel. A sense of dread filling him, Ray shouted, “WHERE’S SPENSER?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the extra-long chapter.


	8. Saving Spenser

_**Simir, Niger – Exfil Rendezvous Location** _

Ray’s yell combined with Cerb’s low throated growling, and Brock’s command, “Sit,” whipped Jason’s and Sonny’s heads in their direction. Rob rushed forward, hoping to separate Spencer from Ray before Bravo Two slaughtered the man where he stood.

Scott, Sierra’s 2IC, and medic moved in for Trent, knowing without a doubt Hayes would be torn between rendering care to Sawyer and finding what happened to Bravo Six. “Go. I got him.” Scott slipped into space already vacated by a red-eyed Texas Longhorn bull on a rampage. He shivered as he thought Sierra Seven might not be making it back alive if Sonny got his hands on him … regardless of the reason the kid wasn’t in the car.

Jason stormed over just as Ray pulled out of Rob’s grasp and wrapped his hands around Sierra Seven’s neck, squeezing as the man failed to answer Ray’s question fast enough and Bravo Two ground out his query a third time, “Where’s Spenser?”

Sucking in a breath when Perry was pulled from him, Spencer faced nine intimidating men, the remaining four furious members of Bravo, as well as five equally enraged men from his own team. He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t get him. A huge force converged on the spot. He was nowhere to be seen … and they sprayed the vehicle with bullets. Got me in the arm.”

He sucked in another shaky breath, unwilling to reveal he was scared shitless and bugged out before he should’ve. Spenser wouldn’t survive to tell a different story. “I’d be dead if I didn’t leave when I did. Save who is savable … right? Spenser was probably already dead.”

“SAVING YOUR ASS AND LEAVING A BROTHER HIGH AND DRY AIN’T WHAT WE DO!” Sonny slammed his fist into Sierra Seven’s solar plexus.

Spencer dropped to his knee; the strike so powerful it knocked all the air from his lungs.

“We’ll deal with him later,” Jason barked. The more time they spent yelling at the shitiot, the longer it would take for them to reach Clay. He keyed his comms, “Bravo One to Six, status.”

He was met with expected static because if the kid could’ve reported he was left behind, he would’ve … but Jason refused to believe that Spenser was dead. Without another word spoken, Jason, Ray, Sonny, and Brock trotted for the second smaller van. They were going to save their little brother.

Cerb growled once more, wanting to shred Seven’s jugular and let him bleed out, but he would get in trouble for something so severe. So, he lifted his leg and pissed on Seven as the spineless man knelt in the dirt before racing to catch up with Brock.

Rob directed his men, “Six, you drive the utility van, take Seven with you. Get Sawyer to the plane. Three, Four, Five, with me, we’re going with Bravo.” He moved to the driver’s seat of the sedan, shaking his head and trying not to lose his cool, though he wanted to string Seven up just as much as the rest of them. Seven sealed his fate as a SEAL … he would be kicked out, and no other team would touch him with a ten-foot pole.

Bravo channeled their fury into what they did best … solve the problem and develop strategies. As Ray drove, Jason queried Seven over comms on exactly what he saw and where. Jason silently vowed to himself he would find their kid and bring him home … dead or alive … preferable the latter. Then he would make sure Spencer Clayton got the full measure of what he deserved.

* * *

_**Rollback 15 minutes – Simir, Niger – Exfil B** _

Clay abruptly stopped and gaped as an illuminating flare soared into the air creating daylight visibility, wiping out any advantage the night gave him. “SHIT!”

He was close enough to see the sedan’s driver was Spencer. They locked gazes for one second, and he registered terror and a sneer crossing the man’s face. Clay started sprinting across the open field, lifting his weapon and mowing down twelve of the thirteen tangos when they opened fire on his ride out of this shitshow before they even realized he was behind them.

Halfway there, still running, out of ammo, he drew his knife as the last tango between him and his exfil, who likewise ran out of bullets or his gun jammed, pulled out a wicked saber with a curved blade and turned towards him with the intent of stopping him. His tactical knife against a friggin’ scimitar made Clay almost laugh.

But all humor left him as Clay watched with stunned disbelief when Spencer drove off. “SIERRA SEVEN, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!” he shouted to no avail as Spencer spun tires in the gravel and sped away. “SHIT!”

He didn’t have time to call out again before he had to engage with the tango. His odds of winning if he got close were nil, so he utilized a skill honed by many nights drinking beer and throwing knives at targets with Sonny. His blade sank true in the man’s eye, giving him enough time to close the distance, retrieve the knife and slice the tango’s throat.

For a split second, Clay wondered if he could catch Spencer, and started to sprint in that direction as he reached for his comms, only to find it missing the ear and mouthpiece. _Damn, I should just shoot my comms unit at the beginning of every mission … it’s always busted when I need it most._

Clay didn’t get far before a plethora of insurgents swarmed him. Not one to give up, he dug down deep, attempting to outrun them when he overheard one of them yell to take him alive in a local dialect he understood. If they wouldn’t be shooting him, he might be able to elude their fastest runners. His hopes died as headlights illuminated the area in front of him, indicating a vehicle was now pursuing him.

He went down as several men jumped out of the back of a truck. But he continued to struggle. His best chance for escape was to fight like hell. Unfortunately, his efforts were hampered by a sprained wrist and his stamina waning after all his exertion to reach his exfil position.

As he was pinned to the ground on his stomach, arms yanked and stretched above his head Clay seethed. _Gonna kill Spencer when I get free … if Sonny hasn’t already slain him._ Though he tried not to reveal his pain, when one of the men stepped on his arm, and another yanked his hands to wind a rope around his wrists to secure them, he let out a small grunt and hiss.

His boots and socks were stripped from him as they laughed about him not being able to run if they took them. Once the coarse rope was secured so tightly it broke his skin, someone tied the other end to the back of the truck as shouts of celebration sounded off around him. _Well, shit! This is gonna suck._

Clay’s body jolted as the truck surged forward. A scream erupted from him as his shoulder joint popped out of its socket. How long they dragged through the stone-riddled sand at high-velocity Clay would never know. He strove not to inhale too much dust … an impossibility as his body spun. Sharp rocks sliced through his shirt and pants, creating a myriad of stinging cuts in his skin.

When they finally stopped, Clay coughed, gasped for air, and coughed again in a vicious cycle which prevented him from gaining enough oxygen to stave off lightheadedness. So much grit and sand filled his eyes he couldn’t open them so he couldn’t determine his location.

Continued shouting and cheering over their successful capture rang in Clay’s ears. His scream … not one of elation … joined the cacophony of sounds as his body was lifted into the air by his wrists. He assumed the rope was thrown over a rafter and they hauled him up until his bare feet no longer touched the sand.

Dangling, memories of being hooked, hoisted, and used as a pinata in Mexico came unbidden. He steeled himself for the pain which was about to be inflicted. The worst part was he couldn’t prepare for the first blow because he was unable to see. When it came, a hard strike to his solar plexus, he had no breath to scream as the swinging motion on his dislocated joint sent him straight to hell.

Strike after strike left him wishing he would black out, but fate remained unkind to him. In ungodly agony, Spenser lost track of time again as he tried to send his mind to a safe place and disassociate from the torture they put his body through. As he began to drift, gunfire erupted, changing the shouting from victorious to shocked and terrified.

Clay supposed he must be hallucinating as he heard the strains of the Flight of the Valkyries blaring above all else. Images of being carried off by the winged maidens to the afterlife hall of the slain and them serving him mead filled his mind … strange and yet an alluring delusion if it meant cessation to his pain.   

* * *

_**Present Time - Simir, Niger – Center of the Village** _

Sonny cranked up the volume to the maximum on the van’s surprisingly state-of-the-art sound system. Booming through speakers which true music enthusiasts would drool over, he used the Flight of the Valkyries as a distraction as Brock drove straight into the swarm around his little brother.

With one glimpse of Clay strung up in the village, his battered, bloody, dirt-covered body swinging to and fro, the fire in his gut made Sonny more deadly than a pack of great white sharks feeding on chum. A one-man force with the strength of Thor, Sonny flung open the side door and plowed the short distance through the startled insurgents, swacking anyone in his path. His goal … his chosen role … get to Clay and get him back to the van while taking out as many assholes as he could on the way.

He had help in that department. Jason, Ray, and the four support team members took up positions from which they could lay down cover fire … creating chaos. Reaching Spenser, he butted his shoulder against the kid’s waist and sliced the rope holding him up. Clay’s body limply folded onto him and Sonny braced the bloody legs with one arm as he lifted his weapon in the other to clear a path by shooting anything that moved.

Sadly, he had to dump the kid unceremoniously into the van and Brock was moving again before the door slammed shut. The vehicle bumped and jostled as they drove over dead and not so dead bodies. The screams of the dying didn’t faze Sonny one damned bit … these bastards reveled in hurting his brother ... and payback was a bitch.

The rescue, though every second seemed to be a year to Sonny, only took seventeen seconds from the moment Brock slammed into the first insurgent to the moment the van rounded a corner where they picked up Ray and Jason. Rob confirmed all his guys were accounted for and two vehicles sped off into the night leaving scores of terrorists dead or dying. The Valkyries would have a nice haul … but they wouldn’t be taking Clay to Valhalla tonight.

* * *

_**Van En Route to Niger Airport** _

Jason, Ray, and Sonny all braced Clay, keeping his body as immobile as possible until Brock pulled onto the paved road. Cerb sat in the passenger seat, his head draped over the back, letting little whines come out as he desired to be closer to his boy. But he understood he would only be in the way.

Brock reached over and patted Cerb, hoping to soothe both his dog and himself. “He’s gonna be okay. We got him.”

Soulful brown eyes stayed on Clay. _He doesn’t look okay._ Cerb peered at the shredded clothing covered in dirt and blood … _my boy’s blood_. He understood his boy’s shoulder didn’t look right either … sticking out at an odd angle. Cerb released another whimper.

Jason surveyed the kid as he lay on the floor. He raked a hand through his hair, wishing Trent had not been shot. One, because he didn’t want him injured, and two, he wanted him here to treat Clay. Sonny’s hitched voice brought him out of his musing.

“Jace, what first? Shoulder or shit … everything else?” Sonny swallowed hard as he shifted, wanting the kid to be alright. He never got used to seeing him injured. He always appeared so young and vulnerable.

Ray suggested, “While he’s unconscious, it would be best to put his shoulder back in place. Save him a little pain. We can cut off his clothes and assess the most critical items afterward.”

Jason nodded. The three moved with Ray and Jason lifting and holding Clay until Sonny got into position behind him, allowing the kid’s back to rest on his chest. Ray wanted to slice the binding, but with no room to manipulate his knife in between Clay’s wrists without cutting him, he began working the knots loose.

Peering down at Clay’s face, Sonny noted the sorry state. “We need to pour water over his eyes to clean away all the grit … if he wakes, he might try to open them and he don’t need any sand in those blue orbs … might cause a problem with his sight.”

Glad to have Sierra Two’s medic bag with them, Jason opened it and pulled out a saline bag and some gauze. “Shoulder first, eyes next, then the rest.”

After Ray removed the rope, Jason took hold of Clay’s wrist, noting the swelling and wondering if it was broken. He slowly and firmly pulled Clay’s arm forward and straight in front of the kid, applying traction to guide the ball joint back to the shoulder socket without jerking or yanking his arm.

While Jason worked, Ray withdrew a pair of scissors and began carefully cutting up the leg of Spenser’s pants. The random rips and tears in the fabric and embedded gravel spoke unmistakably of him being dragged. Silently he sent up a prayer for Clay as he did for Trent. His brothers meant the world to him. Yes, he had Naima and his children, but each brother was irreplaceable and held a special slot in his heart. He already had three empty slots, Nate, Adam, and Swanny … and he didn’t want a fourth or fifth one.

“Want to lay him down, so you don’t end up soaked?” Jason asked as he opened the saline and prepared the gauze.

“No.” Sonny cradled Clay as if he were a porcelain figurine. “He’s safe here. I can keep his shoulder supported until we can put it in a sling.”

Jason nodded and let the water dribble over Clay’s eyes, gently dabbing at the rust-colored dirt … the hue partly due to the terrain and partly to blood from the multitude of small cuts and abrasions covering his face. He worked slow and sure using a light touch over all the wounds, especially the split and swollen lip. No rush since Clay’s pulse rate remained steady and stable … so no fear of him going into shock … and the drive to the airport would take an hour and a half.

“This reminds me of when I was seventeen and crashed my motorbike off-road. I ended up with so much road rash embedded, I was sore for weeks and still picking pieces of sand out of my ass a month later,” Ray shared as he moved the scissors up the second leg. Reaching Clay’s upper thigh, Ray stopped. “Jace, … what the hell is this?”

Sonny peered down to take a gander at what riled Ray. “Geez. He said he had a couple of blisters and some chafing … not that.”

Shifting his eyes, Jason noted small blisters in several places on both legs, but the swelling was significant and hot to the touch. “Hell, if I know.”

“The blisters on his face are popped. Does he have blisters or swelling anywhere else?” Sonny placed the back of his hand to the kid’s head. “He still feels warmer than he should. Sierra Two have a thermometer?”

Jason grabbed the second pair of scissors and began cutting away Clay’s shirt. “No … not standard issue … Trent has special stuff because of Clay.” Once the shirt was removed, besides all the scrapes, gouges, embedded sand and rocks all over his torso and arms, they found blisters on his lower abs, and three places on one arm.

“Maybe he got something from Solana … heard about a sexually transmitted infection, can’t recall the name. But the STI results in skin lesions which can turn into blisters and can cause swollen lymph nodes.”

Jason and Ray both glanced at Sonny and Jason snorted. “Leave it to you to know all about STIs.”

“Hey, them there medical films they make us watch before deployment … well, some of us pay attention.”

Conjecture stopped as Clay moaned. All three spoke over one another offering reassurances.

“You’re alright, Simba, we got ya.”

“Spenser, relax. Don’t move. You’re going to okay.”

“Brother, hang tight … we know you hurt. We’re taking care of you.”

Trying to lift his lids, wanting to assure himself he was with his brothers, Clay found it impossible. “Trent, can’t open my eyes.”

Jason sucked in a breath. “Trent’s not here, buddy. You gotta suffer my ministrations.”

“Where’s Trent?”

Not ready to tell the kid, Jason only said, “In the other van. Where do you hurt?”

“Simpler to say where I don’t.”

Sonny chuckled, relieved to hear the kid’s sense of humor. “Okay, then where do you hurt the most?”

Clay realized he was lying against Sonny, and a ripple of relief flowed through him. “Left wrist and shoulder, and my thigh … water?”

Ray uncapped a bottle. “Only a few sips for now.”

“Wanna rinse … Sahara Desert in my mouth.”

“Fine, take in a little and spit it out into this.” Ray held a scrap of Clay’s ruined shirt as he tilted the bottle up for Clay.

After rinsing and taking several small sips, finding it hard to swallow, Clay’s mind finally caught up, and his concern for the three missing Bravo members came to the forefront of his thoughts. And he forms only one reason why Trent wouldn’t be here helping him. “Brock, Cerb … who is Trent treating … how badly injured? I covered you as long as I could.”

Slinking through the little opening between Sonny and the back of the seats, Cerb managed to come close to his boy but still remain out of the way. _Me and Brock are okay_ his soft, “Wuff,” tried to convey.

Jason placed sterile pads over Clay’s closed eyes as he said, “Brock’s driving.” He glanced to the right, noting the hair missile, who until now showed great restraint by staying up front. “And Cerb is to your right.”

To avoid talking about Trent, Jason changed the subject. “I’m wrapping your eyes. You might’ve scratched your corneas with all the sand and debris covering your face. Next, I’m going to splint your wrist.” Realizing he needed to distract Clay further, he said, “Give me a sitrep. How did those bastards get their hands on you? I know you said you’d be late to the party … but what happened?”

None of Clay’s brothers expected the surge of anger and venom in the kid’s voice. “I’m gonna kill Clayton … he fucking left me. SEALs don’t leave anyone behind, and he fucking drove off after I swacked twelve of the tangos shooting at him. He spun out as I threw my knife at the scimitar-wielding, thirteenth tango.”

Stunned silence only lasted a second before three of four brothers exploded.

“SON OF A BITCH! HE’S A DEAD MAN WALKING! HE AIN’T SEEING ANOTHER SUNRISE.”

“THE SWORD OF JUSTICE WILL SEVERE HIS HEAD, AND WE’LL LEAVE HIS LIFELESS CARCASS FOR THE SCAVENGERS.”

“CERB’S GONNA SINK HIS TEETH INTO HIS JUGULAR, AND I’M GONNA CUT OFF HIS BALLS AND SHOVE THEM DOWN HIS FUCKING THROAT.”

A deadly calm shrouded Jason. He didn’t bellow. Didn’t voice his thoughts. But for the first time in his life, Jason believed himself capable of committing cold-blooded murder … after a prolonged torture session. Spencer Clayton not only betrayed the kid, he betrayed every SEAL past, present, and future.

Their credo ran through his mind. _My nation expects me to be physically harder, and mentally stronger than my enemies. If I get knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I’m never out of the fight._

_We demand discipline. We expect innovation. The lives of my teammates and the success of our mission depend on me. Our training is never complete. We train for war, we fight to win._

_I stand ready to bring the full spectrum of combat power to bear in order to achieve my mission and the goals established by my country. The execution of my duties will be swift and violent when required, yet guided by the principles I serve to defend._

_Brave men have fought and died building the proud tradition and feared reputation I am bound to uphold. In the worst of conditions, the legacy of my teammates steadies my resolve and silently guides my every deed._

_I will not fail._

Clay Spenser, their brother, personified all it was to be a SEAL and a Tier One operator, whereas Spencer Clayton was the antithesis to all of what SEALs stood for and strove to be. Sierra Seven deliberately and with malice deserted Bravo Six. Payback would be swift and violent, and the only person to blame for his fate was the coward himself.

Being able to control himself when the situation warranted, because quite frankly, no one rose to the rank of Master Chief without the ability to shut down emotions and deal with the most critical things first, Jason stayed focused on tending Clay’s wounds. He drew in a breath in and in his command tone, one which brooked no descent he said, “We will deal with Sierra Seven later. Now, I need to concentrate on more important matters.”

“Jace, you can’t let the shitiot off the hook.” Sonny’s body vibrated with the desire to tear the limbs off the piece of shit who left his little brother.

Jason pinned Quinn with a glare which communicated much more than his words alone. “I promise you he will never operate again. Clay is our priority at the moment. Settle down … your shaking is causing the kid pain.”

The last two sentences caused Sonny to inhale sharply and forcefully hold himself still … not wanting to add to Clay’s agony.

After wrapping gauze around Clay’s head to keep the pads in place over his eyes, Jason softened his voice as he reached for Clay’s swollen wrist. “Sorry, this is gonna hurt. I need to clean the cuts the ropes caused before I splint it.”

Clay flinched and hissed at the slight movement. A warm and solid hand slipped into his uninjured one and squeezed. Clay gripped Sonny’s hand tightly. His big brother offering him silent support and an anchor to hold, so he didn’t drift away. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, lying against Sonny’s chest was like being in a safe harbor, protected from the sea squalls threatening to drown him as he dealt with the myriad of stinging cuts and other aches and sore spots all over his body.

He sucked in a breath and moaned, as sharp shards of white-hot pain shot up his arm and down his fingers when Jason began to tend his wrist. A whisper in his ear, a soft, “I’ve got you, Simba,” from Sonny helped him endure the agony.

Though beyond livid, Ray followed Jason’s lead, shoving his rage to the back burner and set to pulling out supplies to clean the multitude of gravel-filled cuts on Clay’s legs. Since his brother couldn’t see, he also mimicked Jason by explaining what he was going to do before he touched Clay.

Brock’s foot pressed hard on the accelerator, speeding down the road. He might be the quietest member of Bravo most times, but he was no less protective of Clay or enraged by what Sierra Seven had done to their kid. _Silent but deadly_ , slipped through Brock’s mind. _Spencer will pay a hundred-fold for leaving my brother to be captured and tortured._

As he drove and the others took care of Clay, Brock spent his time scheming of all the ways to mete out significant pain to the self-serving, second-rate sleaze bag who failed to protect a teammate. A sneer formed as he thought about talking to Blackburn about charging Clayton with Article 99.

His actions certainly met multiple definitions of the misbehavior before the enemy article in the Uniform Code of Military Justice. One, runs away. Two, shamefully abandons, surrenders, or delivers up any command, unit, place, or military property which it is his duty to defend. Three, through disobedience, neglect, or intentional misconduct endangers the safety of any such command, unit, place, or military property. Eight, willfully fails to do his utmost to encounter, engage, capture, or destroy any enemy troops, combatants, … which it is his duty so to encounter, engage, capture, or destroy. Nine, does not afford all practicable relief and assistance to any troops, … when engaged in battle.

And the most applicable definition … Five, is guilty of cowardly conduct. Spencer Clayton was a fucking coward and needed to be court-martialed so the entire world would learn of his failure and he would reap the scorn of all service members who would willingly lay their lives on the line to save a fellow brother instead of running away like a scaredy-cat.

Clayton would likely be the first US serviceman convicted of cowardice since 1968 when Private Michael Gross was found guilty of running away from his company in Vietnam and sentenced to two years in prison. And though a guilty verdict could carry the death penalty, unfortunately, Clayton would most likely end up imprisoned and receive a dishonorable discharge. But at least he would no longer be a member of SEALs and he would promptly be dismissed from their minds … as if he never existed.

The cry of pain from the rear brought Brock out of his reflections. He wanted to look back, but driving at over ninety miles an hour, he must keep his eyes on the road, but that didn’t stop him from saying. “Give him something to relieve his agony.”

Sonny now held Clay’s head in his lap after they rolled him on his right side to clean his back … the source of Simba’s vocalization of his discomfort occurred when his shoulder moved. Sonny swiveled his head to peer at Brock. “He doesn’t want morphine. Can’t blame him after Tibet.”

Continuing to lightly stroked through Clay’s sand-laced, gritty and sweaty hair with one hand, Sonny provided the only comfort he could at the moment. Glad the kid settled swiftly and accepted this soothing gesture without swatting his hand away. Though in truth, Clay’s only mobile hand was still clinging to his and squeezing so hard, a pins and needles sensation started to form in Sonny’s fingers.

“Don’t you have something else?” Brock recalled the kid being strung out on the opioids forced on him in unregulated quantities by a well-meaning, yet clueless young woman named Padma.

“Would if we had Trent’s Spenser kit, but that is in the other van,” Jason answered, kicking himself for not grabbing the special med-bag because now the kid was unduly suffering.

His voice shaking with pain, Clay asked, “Who is Trent treating?”

The time had come, he couldn’t delay any longer, and Jason opened his mouth to tell him, but Sonny beat him to the punch.

Pitching his voice soft, Sonny shared, “Trent’s hurt. We took care of him, and now Sierra Two is caring for him. Scott’s a great medic too, so relax. And just so you know, Trent is as stubborn as you and he’ll be right as rain shortly.”

“Hurt, how?” Clay coughed.

“Took slugs to his shoulder, side, and arm. Need some more water?” Ray asked as he put the water bottle to Clay’s lips.

Clay sucked in the offered water, wanting to slake his thirst, but his throat seemed to be swelling, making it hard to swallow, and some of the liquid dribbled out. “Jace?”

“Yeah?” Jason halted in wiping a section of Clay’s abraded back.

“My … throat … swelling.”

Ray shone the light on Clay’s neck as Jason shifted his attention and reached out to palpate, but stopped short when he noted more blisters had formed, and the kid’s neck appeared as red and swollen as his upper thigh. “What the hell?”

Jason did the only thing he could do with his limited supplies, starting an IV, he pushed a dose of corticosteroids into the port, hoping to reduce the inflammation before the swelling caused the kid to suffocate. He really didn’t want to intubate if he didn’t have to, but he would if required to save Clay’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse won't let this story go and is shirking her duty to focus on my novel ... so you get another extra-extra-long chapter real quick. And the evil muse isn't one bit sorry for leaving this chapter on a little cliffy. Hope you enjoyed.


	9. Simba’s Walk of Pride

_**Van En Route to Niger Airport** _

After forty minutes of working to clean Clay’s wounds, Jason sat back on his heels and released a weary sigh as he glanced over to Ray. “That’s the best we can do for now. Luckily, the swelling isn’t getting worse. Don’t know whether it is the steroid or the ibuprofen I gave him.”

Ray nodded. “Wish we knew what caused those lymph nodes to swell and those little blisters. But you said he had those before we went on the mission?”

“Yeah, and the low-grade fever. Trent wasn’t sure what caused blisters, and I wish we had made him drop his pants to check his leg … he said it was a little swollen. Might’ve made him sit this one out. And if I had, he wouldn’t be in a world of hurt now.”

“Whoa, whoa, brother … no second guessing yourself. Trent cleared him to go. If not for Clay, our assess would’ve been toast tonight. And if Sierra Seven had not been a coward and left the kid, he would’ve made it out with only a sprained wrist.” Ray shifted to his butt, finally letting his tense muscles relax having been strung taunt ever since Spencer arrived at the rendezvous point sans Clay.

“Perhaps.” Jason’s gaze returned to Bravo Six who slipped into an uneasy slumber after receiving a dose of analgesics, and they finished fashioning a makeshift sling to strap his arm and keep his shoulder immobile. Clay now nestled in a semi-upright position between Sonny’s legs with his back and head against Quinn’s chest.

Cerb had situated himself, so his furry body acted as a support for Clay’s arm, though not actually needed. But after peering into the brown orbs, Jason believed the hair missile just wanted to be close to his boy. Their dog had an affinity for Clay almost as strong as he had for Brock. Jason sometimes wondered how much stress Cerb would be under if he could save only one of the two. Though, ultimately, Cerberus would save Brock first … his deepest loyalty to his handler … as it should be.

Ray handed Jason a water bottle and uncapped one for Sonny too before opening one for himself. “What are we going to do about what Spencer did?”

“String him up by the short hairs and beat him senseless,” Sonny grumbled softly so he wouldn’t wake Clay.

“No. We make sure he is charged with an Article 99,” Brock said. “As much as we all want to beat the shit out of the guy, we need to keep our hands clean if we want to continue operating as a team.”

Jason considered Brock’s suggestion. The funny thing about their nearly mute dog handler was when he spoke, he had something significant to say and always made sense.

Reading his best friend’s expression, Ray took a sip of water before adding his two cents. “I agree, but how we gonna keep Sonny from killing Spencer when we arrive?”

Jason chuckled, as his eyes landed back on Sonny. “Simple. Bravo Three, you’re in charge of taking care of Simba. He is your priority, and the scum of the earth will be dealt with … and that is a direct order.”

“Copy. But understand this now, if the shitiot comes within striking distance of our cub, I will be complying fully with your orders when I repeatedly slam my fist into his face.”

“So noted.” Jason downed half his water. Keying his comms for the fourth time, he said, “Bravo One to Havoc.” He waited for a response, needing to provide Blackburn with a sitrep. Getting no answer again, he finally shifted to a more comfortable position. “Comms are still down.”

Ray nodded. “Blackburn’s probably stressed out. No ISR, no comms … he’s blind to whether we are alive or dead. Don’t envy his position one bit. Always hate being on the sidelines, waiting.”

Silence enveloped the van for the next thirty minutes, only broken by occasional moans from Clay when he jostled due to the less than stellar paved road. Each time he would end up squeezing Sonny’s hand, before settling back into a state of light sleep.

“We’re about ten mics from the airport,” Brock conveyed.

“Wanna … walk.” Clay rasped out, his throat now sore, but fortunately still open.

“What was that, Simba?” Sonny asked, surprised Clay spoke.

“Don’t want …” Clay coughed.

Pressing the water bottle to Clay’s lips, Sonny urged, “Take a few sips then speak.”

After drinking, Clay repeated his request. “Want to walk onto the plane.”

“Kid, you’re a mess, let us carry you,” Jason said.

“Yeah, you aren’t heavy, you’re our brother,” Ray used the corny phrase but meant every word. They all carried each other at one time or another.

“Nah, I agree with Simba. I’ll help. But so you're aware, you’re wearing only boxers.” Sonny understood why Clay wanted to walk. In his condition now, if he entered the plane under his own power, any and all joking about them leading him on wearing the strap would instantly dissipate and never be brought up again. The kid needed to show his strength and regain his self-esteem in the eyes of the support team.

“Don’t care.” Clay didn’t, restoring his sense of pride, and showing Spencer he survived seemed more important to him at this moment than his state of dress. He would walk stark-assed naked if truth be told, and if he could see, he would plant his fist in the coward’s face.

“Mandy will be there,” Jason tried one last time, his words having a twofold meaning. First, he didn’t believe the kid was up to walking, and Clay might rethink his request to protect her sensibilities. Second, Mandy would be kicking herself that her intel sent them into a trap, and seeing the kid in such a state would likely twist her gut … and heart even more. She might try to hide her emotions, but after what she did to track down those responsible for the bomb in Manila, which almost sidelined the kid permanently, she revealed her soft spot for Clay.

“I’m sure she’s seen a guy in less.”

Relenting, recalling the soles of Clay’s feet were the two areas unaffected, and coming up with a workable solution which allowed Clay to do what he seemed he must, and still protect Mandy slightly, Jason nodded, but then realized the kid couldn’t see him. “Alright. But before you get out of the van, we’ll wrap a blanket around your shoulders.”

“K. More water, please.”

Ray offered his bottle since Clay finished off Sonny’s a few moments ago. “Slow now, don’t guzzle, but you can drink as much as you want.”  

* * *

_**Aircraft on Niger Tarmac** _

Spencer Clayton sat on a seat near the ramp watching Scott and Terrance, aka Sierra Six, tend to Trent. Bravo’s medic roused once, noticed in whose care he was and smiled, but it turned to a frown when Scott told him Clay was missing and the rest of the teams were trying to locate him. The laser glare Sawyer sent his way contained so much heat Spencer swore he had been scorched.

His gaze turned to Blackburn, who was not happy in the least that he couldn’t raise Bravo on comms. The lieutenant commander barked orders to try and get a satellite redirected to provide him some sort of visibility. He despised Blackburn for dressing him down over a few jokes. No one else ever got that kind of treatment.

Sawyer should’ve been brought up on assault charges, but just like Spenser with an S, he was given special treatment. In Blackburn’s eyes, none of Bravo could do anything wrong. But in all cases, Spenser was to blame for all the shit … Spenser was the Curse of Bravo whether anyone besides him recognized. If Commander Shaw were still around, he would’ve taken his complaint directly to him again.

Shifting his gaze to the CIA agent, an idea began to form. The deaths of any who didn’t come back would lay squarely at her feet. This op was planned with her intel … which sucked and lured them into a trap. If she was as smart as she thought she was, she should’ve recognized that the IIB would’ve worked up some plan after they snagged so many leaders of sects in Africa.

Her stupid mistake would be the cause of Spenser’s death, Sawyer’s and his wounds, and potentially more deaths or injuries if Bravo and Sierra were killed trying to locate Spenser’s body. He would be scot-free and in the clear … one of the victims of shoddy intel and poor planning by Hayes, Blackburn, and Ellis.

Spencer moved his arm and let out a moan, causing his ire to increase yet again. After changing out of his pissed-on clothes and cleaning up as well as possible with the sanitary wipes, he had to tend to his own wound. Scott gave him the barest glance and told him to wrap it with sterile gauze, and he would see to it when he could. Terrance hadn’t even bothered to ask him how he was … ignored him completely.

Three more on his shit list … Scott, Terrance, and that damned dog Cerberus. His transfer couldn’t come soon enough now. Everyone sided with Spenser … and he couldn’t fathom why. There was nothing special about him. He was a spoiled screw-up who only made it through Green Team because he was second-generation … and Adam Seaver ran with Ash Spenser back in the day.

Peering down at his piss-covered boots, still wearing them because he didn’t have a second pair with him to change into, his mind shifted back to the dog. It would be easy enough to slip some poison into a piece of steak and rid the world of the ugly Malinois. Would serve Reynolds’ too for allowing his mutt to pee on him.

Two vehicles coming to a stop at the ramp pulled Spencer from his thoughts. He watched as Rob and his other teammates exited the sedan and move to the van, their faces in grim lines. His hope they found a dead Spenser soared.

Jason opened the sliding door on the side of the van and spotted Rob. “We need a blanket.”

Rob pivoted, and his stomach plummeted, thinking the worse … the kid didn’t survive. Though he wanted to stop and punch Spencer, he grabbed a blanket and the stretcher. He almost picked up one of the flags they used to drape fallen eagles but refrained because Jason had not requested the item.

Rushing to the rear of the plane, Eric sucked in a breath as Rob sprinted down the ramp and to the van. If he read the man’s expression right, at least one of his men had died … and Clay was the most likely candidate since Sierra Seven indicated Bravo Six never made it to the exfil location and had to bug out when overrun by forty insurgents.

Steeling himself, Eric counted off the ones he saw. All of Sierra. Brock rounded the van. Cerb hopped out of the back. Jason, Ray …. His heart thudded so hard every beat sounded in his ears.

Jason unfurled the blanket and crawled back inside to wrap it over Clay’s injured shoulder and under the armpit of his right side. He used clamps from the med-kit to secure it in place so that it didn’t fall off as he walked with his good arm over Sonny’s shoulder. He and Ray then lifted Clay’s legs as they scooted him to the edge of the opening and Sonny moved forward supporting Clay’s back.

Sitting on Clay’s right side, Sonny took his brother’s arm and slung it over his shoulders. “Ready whenever you are, Simba. You set the pace.” He glanced around at the shocked expressions of the four Sierra members.

“He’s gonna walk … in _that_ condition?” Rob said what all his men were thinking.

“Ready,” Clay softly said then gritted his teeth as stiff and abused muscles protested his movement. He was grateful Sonny stood in slow motion. He took a moment to stand as straight as possible, but due to sore abs, he still stooped over a little.

Shuffling forward with his eyes bandaged, Clay couldn’t witness the admiration on the faces of the support team as the semi-circle around the van opened a path for him and Sonny. Nor could he see Blackburn’s jaw drop and the smile form as the lieutenant commander realized all his men were alive … though banged up. Mandy’s gasp was too soft to reach his ears, and she swiped away the tears filling her eyes before anyone noticed as she watched Sonny helping Clay to the ramp.

The one countenance he wanted to see he couldn’t, so he whispered to Sonny, “What is Spencer’s expression?”

Sonny shifted his gaze, allowing all the hatred he had for Clayton to be communicated in his glare. “I do believe he is scared shitless, little buddy.”

“Good. Cause I don’t think he expected me to be alive to tell what he did.” Clay moaned softly as he continued to move, each step a laborious effort with aching muscles and bone-deep fatigue. “Could sleep for a week.”

“Almost to the ramp. You got this. A nice comfy gurney is waiting for you. One step at a time, Simba. You can sleep all you want … I’ll keep you safe while you saw logs.”

A short-lived chuckle emitted from Clay, as tremors jarring his shoulder stopped him. “Think I prefer, snooze, siesta, or slumber as a synonym … sawing logs sounds like too much effort.”

Sonny would’ve retorted with a snappy comeback, maybe something about Ken Doll having too much book learnin’, but they started up the ramp, and he took more of the Clay’s weight as the kid’s stamina waned.

Blackburn started to ask how they rescued Clay, but when Jason surged up the ramp and went straight for Spencer, spinning the man and yanking Spencer’s hands behind his back as Ray pulled a zip-tie out and slipped over Sierra Seven’s wrist, pulling the cuffs tight, his words changed. “What the hell are you doing?”

As Brock joined Jason and Ray, spinning Spencer again and shoving him down in a seat, standing guard, Jason turned to Blackburn. “What did he tell you about the situation … why he left exfil B without Clay?”

“Said forty insurgents were spraying his vehicle with bullets, and Spenser was nowhere to be seen. He waited as long as he could and then had to leave, or he would be dead. Said he tried to raise Spenser on comms to locate another pickup position but got no response.” Blackburn’s gut twisted as he recognized the controlled fury emanating from the three Bravo members in front of him.

Across the aisle, now seated on the gurney, Sonny supporting him because he wasn’t ready to lie down, Clay overheard Blackburn and his assumption Spencer expected him to be dead was validated. He waited because Jason explained what they planned to do.

Keeping his voice under tight control, Jason said, “I believe you will be surprised to find Bravo Six’s account somewhat different. Clay, please share what actually happened.”

Eric turned, his concern ratcheting up, taking in Clay’s condition up close.

Clay related the pertinent details which would become part of his after-action report, “Had to dodge multiple tangos after providing cover fire as long as I could for Bravo to escape the building. As I left my perch, I had to jump out a window when they entered the abode. My path was blocked, and I radioed Jason I would be a little late to my exfil pos as I had to find another way.

“Injured my wrist when I landed wrong trying to take a rooftop route. Managed to get up on a wall and scan the area. Saw the sedan approaching and knew I had to run like hell, so support wasn’t exposed too long. Found a gate which was further away, but at that point climbing over another wall was not in the cards.

“As I exited the gate, the insurgents fired an illuminating flare. There were thirteen tangos between me and Spencer in the open field. Spencer and I locked gazes for a second or two then I sprinted forward, firing and swacking twelve. He never fired a single shot to cover me.

“When I ran out of ammo, I pulled my knife to deal with the remaining one. He had a friggin’ scimitar. Spencer left as I confronted the last tango. He just fucking drove away. I was alive. I was mobile. I was almost there. He could’ve killed the tango. Could’ve driven closer to me … but he left me.

“I ran after him after slitting the sword-wielding tango’s throat, but he disappeared from sight as headlights from a vehicle shone on me. They grabbed me … wanted me alive from what I understood from their yelling. They tied me to the back of the truck and dragged me, dislocating my shoulder before hoisting me up someplace … don’t know where. I couldn’t see with sand in my eyes.

“They began beating me … until well, not sure if I was hallucinating, but the Flight of the Valkyries changed their cheering to screaming … then I woke up in the back of the van with my brothers.”

The effort to spill his story took every ounce of gas Clay had left in his tank, and he slumped against Sonny. He whispered, “Gotta lay down now.”

Sonny eased Clay down, resting his head on the pillow. “You did good, sleep now.”

“Hmm.” Clay slipped off, unaware of anything going on around him.

Spencer shouted, “HE’S FUCKING LYING. SPENSER WASN’T THERE, I WOULD NEVER LEAVE SOMEONE LIKE THAT. I’M NO COWARD. I WON’T BE THE SCAPEGOAT FOR HIS SCREW UP. I FACED INSURMOUNTABLE ODDS … SIXTY TO ONE.”

Jason arched a brow. “Before it was forty … where did those extra twenty come from?” As Spencer sputtered for a reply, he added, “Blackburn, we leave this coward in your hands, and expect he will be charged with an Article 99 for cowardice in the face of the enemy and shamefully abandoning a teammate, which was his duty to defend. We have more important matters to attend to … namely Clay and Trent.”

With that, Jason moved towards Trent to check with Scott on his condition. Hayes ignored the stunned expressions of all of those who heard Clay’s account, measured it against Spencer’s report, and found Bravo Six to be more believable. His primary concern, the well-fare of his men.

Scott closed his gaping mouth and sucked in a sharp breath as Jason approached. He dismissed all else, returning to medic mode as he shared, “Trent is stable. He woke once and asked about you guys. He was not happy to learn Clay was missing. Told me the blue pack in his kit contains special meds for Clay.”

Jason nodded but still took Trent’s pulse for himself, needing the reassurance of the steady beat. After several moments, he moved to Clay and noted Scott had already started a new saline bag and something else. “What are you giving him?”

“Sulfamethoxazole. I can’t be certain until he is tested, but those blisters and swollen lymph nodes might be cat scratch fever. My sister, who loves cats, contracted it once. The node behind her ear swelled to the size of a golf ball.”

“How the hell did he get cat scratch fever?” Sonny asked.

Scott turned to Quinn. “Clay told me a Siamese cat clawed up him to get away from Cerberus when you guys snagged el-Samad.”

“When did he tell you that?” Ray asked as he came to the gurney.

“After I asked him about the scratches on his neck, legs, and arm the next day when we grabbed showers at the same time. Symptoms usually take a week to present.” He chuckled, “And they can be mistaken for an STI called lymphogranuloma venereum. His symptoms fit … even the low fever and headache Trent treated him for before the mission. Fatigue is also a symptom, but with as much as we’ve been going the last week, he would probably chalk it up to being run-ragged.”

Sonny sighed. “This cat scratch fever … is it deadly?”

“Not usually. People with impaired immune systems are at greatest risk. Clay’s strong and healthy. And I believe after some rest, a course of antibiotics, and ibuprofen to reduce the swelling and fever Clay will be fine. But like I said, for an accurate diagnosis, the doctors will need to perform a polymerase chain reaction for _Bartonella henselae_.”

Noting the confused miens, Scott clarified using terms they would understand, “PCR, like in a DNA blood test. It will detect both live and dead organism present in his body.”

The medical gobbly-gook always went over Sonny’s head, and he latched onto the key piece … Clay will be fine … which set his mind at ease as he sank into a seat next to his little brother.

Unbeknownst to the rest of Bravo or anyone else on the plane as they stowed gear and prepared to take off, Cerb sniffed out Spencer’s pack, dragged it away from all the other kits. Using his teeth, he tugged open the duffel bag then squatted and left a pile of stinky shit inside. After pooping, he lifted his leg and soaked it with pee … his personal statement of what he thought of the stinking coward who left his boy to die.

When he finished, Cerberus trotted over to Clay and took up a guard position. His keen eyes tracking the man he wished to sink his teeth into as Sierra One and Blackburn moved a cuffed Spencer to the front of the plane and secured him in a seatbelt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cerb was a bit of a bad boy ... but, well the coward deserved it. Hope you enjoyed this chapter ... and the story isn't over yet. If you've noticed ... Sonny, Trent, Brock, and now Ray have had a chance to say "Where's Spenser?" that leaves Jason ... and maybe, just maybe Blackburn too. More fun to come.


	10. Substantive Evidence Required

_**Next Afternoon – Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Outside Room 316** _

“No fucking way!” Sonny refrained from shouting in the hospital, but clenched his fists, so wanting to smash them into something … someone … namely, Spencer Clayton.

“I’m sorry, I tried. But it is Clay’s word against Spencer’s. Unless substantive evidence proves Clay’s allegations against Spencer, he can’t be charged or held in the brig.” Blackburn hated delivering this news to the team, but it would be best for them to find out directly from him.

Jason seethed as he leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose. So exhausted … he had not slept a wink on the plane, keeping a vigil on both Trent and Clay. Nor could he sleep during the hours in the waiting room while Trent was in surgery and an ophthalmologist was brought in to assess Clay’s eyes.

His boys now shared a room. Something Blackburn managed to finagle since this was the post-surgical floor and Clay didn’t require surgery. Perhaps the doctors were swayed by the idea of corralling all the SEALs in one location, so they didn’t disrupt the hospital staff. Whatever the reason, and however it came about, Jason was grateful for the small boon.

However, learning Clayton might get away with what he did to the kid, didn’t sit well. And if he weren’t dog-tired, he would seek vengeance through his fists. “I’ll tell Clay after dinner. He deserves to know.”

Brock could only shake his head and rake his fingers through his black curls. He wanted to rage at the injustice … but kept quiet for now. He needed to think … to figure out how they might turn the tables.

“What are you doing to help them find evidence?” Ray asked.

Eric blew out a breath. “Mandy is checking with her sources. Perhaps if we can locate and snag an insurgent who witnessed what happened … then maybe. It will be a long shot.”

“Not right. Not right at all,” Sonny groused. “The shitiot left him, and he changed his story … that should be all that is needed to convict him. I can beat a confession out of him.”

Releasing a weary sigh, Jason pushed off the wall. “No, you can’t.”

“Like hell, I can’t.” Sonny pounded his fist in his other palm.

“Let me rephrase. No, you won’t. And that is an order.” Jason held Sonny’s gaze. “Got it?”

Sonny pivoted. “Copy. I’m going to the gym. Tell Simba I’ll be back soon.”

Ray glanced at Jason. “I’ll go with him and keep him out of trouble.” He hurried after the furious Texan and decided he might use the heavy bag himself to release his own rage.

“I should go let Cerb out of his kennel.” Brock waited a moment for Jason’s nod.

“Give him another treat and tell him he is a good boy. Cerb shitting in Spencer’s bag and making him piss his pants might be all the payback Clay gets.”

Brock grinned and nodded. He headed for the stairs recalling the foul odor permeated the plane and how Blackburn made Clayton seal his bag in a plastic bag to curb the stench. The coward was ticked off and tried to kick Cerb on his way back to his seat. Cerb’s growl and lunge in response caused Clayton to wet his pants. And with nothing to change into … seeing as Cerb peed and pooped on his clothes, Spencer had to remain in his urine-soaked pants.

With only he and Jason left, Eric said, “I’ll do everything in my power to fix this. If this is any consolation, Clayton won’t be operating during the NCIS investigation, and the shadow of accusation will follow him. Everyone up our chain of command to Admiral Droit believes Clay. But their hands are tied to proceed with a court-martial until indisputable evidence is produced.”

“Keep me apprised.” Jason moved towards the door but halted when Eric spoke.

“Trent wake yet?” Eric wanted to be here, but the Clayton issue took precedence until now.

“Briefly. He was in pain, and they dosed him up. He’s been sleeping ever since.”

“How’s Clay doing? Must be unnerving for him to have his eyes bandaged.”

“He’s a bit stoic at the moment … when he is awake. Mostly, I believe he sleeps, but hard to tell with covered eyes.”

“Probably best for him at the moment. I still can’t believe he walked onto the plane in his condition.”

“Kid’s strong.”

Eric nodded. “Yeah. Jason, you grab some shut-eye. You’re dead on your feet and—” A crash from inside the room interrupted Eric, and both rushed in as Jason shoved the door open.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Room 316** _

Waking with an urgent need to use the restroom, Clay’s hand searched for the call button, but not finding it resigned himself to asking for help. “Need a hand to the head.”

He waited for a response from one of the guys and when none came, and the call of nature insisted on being heeded Clay swung his feet off the bed. He skootched forward and stood, his aching muscles screaming at him. Not tethered to an IV, he shuffled forward, trying to determine a path to the toilet.

The arm not strapped to his chest waved in front of him as he chose to go right. As his hand swept back and forth searching for obstacles, he made contact with something and knocked it to the ground. The lack of sound meant he hadn’t broken anything, so he continued.

What he didn’t count on was water being in the cup he sent to the floor, and his bare feet slipped on the slick surface. Clay reached out to stop his descent and latched onto something … but it was the rolling table, and his hand landed on the lunch tray which slid off and crashed to the ground with him.

Clay landed on his backside just as Jason shouted, “Clay, what the hell are you doing out of bed?”

“This sucks … gotta take a leak.”

Jason’s and Eric’s strong arms wrapped around Clay and helped him to his feet as Eric said, “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“Couldn’t find the button. I did. No one answered,” Clay snapped back.

“Sorry, I was outside the room, and the others aren’t here at the moment.” Jason slung Clay’s arm over his shoulders and pivoted them. “Bathroom is to the left of your bed. We made sure you were closest to it.” He maneuvered the kid to the toilet and then stepped out to give him privacy.

Eric finished wiping up the water after picking up the half-eaten sandwich and other items from the floor, which needed to be mopped now. “I’ll send in someone to clean this on my way out. Anything you or Clay need?”

Jason shook his head. “No. Got him covered.”

“Okay, but you need sleep. I’ll stay with him tonight. I want you all in your bunks … you're all beyond exhausted.” Eric tossed the wet paper towels into the trash can.

“Sonny isn’t going to go willingly.” Jason stifled a yawn.

“I can order him … don’t want to, but I will. You may be down two guys, but I need you four in condition to go after el-Sylla when Mandy locates him. We all want payback for the setup which injured Trent and Clay. I spun up Alpha to help. They will arrive tomorrow.” Eric eyed Hayes.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll make sure Sonny racks out in the barracks, but I’m staying here. I’ll sleep in the recliner.”

“No … you’ll go too.”

Refusing to back down, Jason dropped his voice so Clay couldn’t hear, “Not leaving the kid alone with Spencer out of the brig. Not happening. I’m not leaving him in a vulnerable condition. Hell, he can’t even walk to the toilet by himself.”

Jason’s phone buzzed, and he yanked it out of his pocket, worried Ray had his hands full with keeping Sonny from seeking out Spencer. Surprise lit his face when Brock’s photo displayed. “Brock?”

His tone a mix of worry and anger, Brock barked, “Cerb is sick. He is puking his guts out. The vet is on the way, but the kennel master said he saw an unauthorized person in here a few hours ago. He shooed him out, but by his description, it is Clayton. I think he poisoned Cerb, but I have no idea how he could get close enough to do so.”

“Shit! Want me to come?” Jason understood the bond between Brock and Cerb, and if his dog had been poisoned, he would need his brothers.

“You’re covering Clay and Trent. No. If he can stoop so low as to leave Clay and hurt my dog, then Clay might be in danger.”

“I’ll call Ray … he and Sonny will be there shortly.”

“Yeah, okay. Gotta go … the vet is here.” Brock hung up.

“What happened with Brock?” Clay asked from the doorway. He overheard Jason’s side only.

Turning to assist Clay back to his bed, Jason said, “Cerb’s sick.”

Eric’s eyes rounded, putting two and two together without Jason explaining … Spencer had been livid when Cerb shit in his bag … if the man was low enough to leave a fellow SEAL, Eric wouldn’t put it past him to seek revenge on a dog.

“How?” Clay shuffled, aching more after his ungraceful fall.

“Don’t know yet. Vet is gonna take a look at him.” Jason helped Clay sit and scoot back on the bed, difficult to do with one arm and a battered body.

Luckily, the road rash and cuts were mostly superficial, none needing stitches. And the beating he took didn’t do any internal damage, no bleeding, no broken bones … not even his wrist, which turned out to be only sprained. So his worst injuries were his sprained wrist and dislocated shoulder … both of which along with all the abrasions, cuts, scrapes, contusions, and the sores manifested by cat scratch fever needed a few weeks to heal.

Jason placed the call button in Clay’s hand. “Gonna step out of the room for a moment to,” he didn’t want to tell Clay why, so said, “to grab a coffee. You want one or a soda?”

“No. Thanks. Tired … gonna sleep. Tell Brock I hope it is nothing serious with Cerb.”

“Will do. Won’t be gone long.” Jason pulled the light sheet over Clay’s lower half then headed for the door.

“I’ll check in on you later,” Eric said before he followed Jason.

“K.” Clay yawned, his short trip to the restroom taking more out of him than he would’ve imagined.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Kennels** _

Brock sat on the floor, holding Cerb’s head in his lap, running his fingers lightly over his head, stroking him as Samantha, the vet, finished her exam. He peered up as Ray and Sonny sprinted into the area, noting the fire in their eyes along with concern.

“How is the hair missile?” Sonny said as he dropped to a knee beside Brock and lay a supportive hand on his shoulder.

“Not good.” Brock clenched one fist as Cerb let out a soft whine and started gagging again … a terrible aacking sound which didn’t produce any vomit since Cerb already disgorged his stomach contents.

Ray turned to the kennel master. “You said you saw someone who shouldn’t be here. Where was he when you spotted him?”

Sergio tore his eyes off the sick canine. “Two aisles over. He wasn’t near Cerberus.”

“What's in that area?”

His eyes widened as realization socked him hard in the gut. “The food … excuse me … I need to check something.” Sergio sprinted to the other aisle and returned a few moments later carrying a sealed bag. “This is the food you supplied,” Sergio spoke to Brock. “I thought my assistant filled the bowls … but since this is sealed, she couldn’t have, and I served Cerb a full bowl. God, I’m sorry. He must’ve put something into the dish.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to the partially empty container in Cerb’s cage as Samantha pulled it out and said, “I’m going to start him on fluids and get this tested to see if I can find out what we are dealing with. Hopefully, his vomiting so quickly after eating prevented him from absorbing too much of whatever might be in here. On the off chance this is viral or bacterial, we need to quarantine Cerb from the other canines.”

“I got a room here with a single cot. Brock, you can stay there with Cerb if you want,” Sergio offered.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Sonny rose, seething with rage … ready to send Spencer six feet under. “Got me some payback to mete out.”

Ray grabbed his sleeve. “Whoa! No. Like before, we need to keep our hands clean.”

“AND WHAT DID THAT GAIN? HUH? THE COWARD IS OUT, AND HE POISONED CERB. WHAT IF HE TRIES TO HURT CLAY? I AIN’T GIVIN’ HIM A CHANCE.”

Ray used the only thing he believed would keep the Mighty Quinn from severing Spencer’s head. “The kid needs someone to cover his six. He can’t see now … he’s vulnerable. Brother, Clay needs you more now, than you need vengeance.”

Shrugging out of the hold, Sonny didn’t react as Ray expected. “You’re wrong. You keep an eye on Simba with Jason. I’m sending the shitiot coward straight to hell when I find him.”

Before Ray could stop Sonny, the Texan sprinted from the room.

“Go after him. Cerb’s in good hands with Samantha and me,” Brock urged. “Sonny’s gonna do something stupid and ruin his life … stop him before it is too late.”

Nodding, Ray rushed after Sonny for the second time in the last hour. He pulled his phone out and dialed Rob, wanting and needing the support team to help corral Sonny before he committed career suicide.

After his brothers left, with the help of Sergio and Samantha, Brock rose, gently lifted Cerb, and carried him to the soft bed awaiting him. As much as he wanted Spencer Clayton to pay and to slam his fists in the son of a bitch’s face, his priority was his fuzzy, four-legged brother.

Lying Cerb down, Brock knelt next to him and stroked his back as Cerb whimpered in pain. “I’m here, boy, not leaving you, buddy. You’re gonna pull through … you have to ...” his voice broke as he choked up, “‘cause I can’t lose you. Stay strong …”

Sergio and Samantha pretended they didn’t see the steady flow of tears from the SEAL’s eyes. They loved animals too … and losing one hurt as much and sometimes more than losing a family member because dogs possessed golden hearts and gave unconditional love. 

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Room 316** _

After calling Ray outside the room so he could give him and Blackburn the details at the same time, he returned to the chair between Clay and Trent. Not long after he slipped into an uneasy sleep, his body required rest. The buzzing of his phone woke him, and he noted a full two hours had elapsed since he called Ray.

Sleepily he answered, “Hey, Ray, how’s Cerb?”

“Not sure …not there. We got us a problem.”

Jason shifted up, as if Trent, Clay, and Cerb all down, and Clayton not being charged weren’t enough problems. “What now?”

“I’m in the ER with Sonny.”

“Shit! What happened?”

“Well, changing Quinn’s mind is a little more challenging than I thought. He tore out of the kennels on the warpath. Took me, Rob, Scott, and Terrance to subdue him. And well, shit, he still broke free of us and sprinted around the corner … smack dab into service truck traveling at a fairly good clip. He whacked his skull on the pavement. His speech is a little slurred and they’re going to do a scan to rule out fractures.”

“Damn. Other than the head injury … how is he?”

Ray shifted the ice bag on his groin and let out a soft moan. “Doesn’t seem to have damaged anything else … though he gonna be sore. You should see the dent in the front of the truck. Sonny’s built like a tank.”

Not missing the sound from his best friend, Jason said, “And what are your damages?”

“Nothing big … only a little swelling. Icing it now.”

“Swelling where?” Jason didn’t like Ray’s evasive answer.

“Sonny didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Do what?”

Realizing Jason would keep pestering him, and his awkward shuffle would give him away, he relented. “Kneed me in the scrotum when he tried to get out of our hold.”

“Shit. Guess Blackburn will be glad he sent for Alpha. We’re in no condition to go after el-Sllya now. Keep me apprised if they are admitting him. And if they aren’t, cuff him to a bunk if you have to. Killing Clayton isn’t something we can allow no matter how much we want him to pay for what he did.”

“Copy. And we might have a way to lock up Clayton. Sergio can identify him as being in the kennels down the food aisle. If Cerb’s food test positive for poison, we might be able to charge him with that.”

“Even if he IDs the coward, that won’t be proof Clayton added the poison to Cerb’s food … if that is the case.”

“Cerb was poisoned?” Clay stated, having listened to Jason’s conversation.

Jason’s gaze whipped to Clay. _Shit, I thought he was asleep._ “Ray, gotta go. Clay’s awake.” He disconnected and sighed. The time had come to reveal the issue with Spencer being released from custody. “We’re not certain, but it might be the case. He is sick, and the kennel master identified Spencer as being in the area prior to Cerb being fed.”

“How? You said he was going to be charged with an Article 99 and you would make sure he was arrested.” Clay’s stomach rolled with the thought Spencer went after Cerb. “And why would he do that to Cerberus?”

Jason needed more sleep before tackling this, but that wouldn’t be happening. The only silver lining is that he wouldn’t have to witness the disappointment in Clay’s blue orbs. “Blackburn came by earlier … they couldn’t hold Clayton. At this point, it is his claim against yours. Not enough proof to charge him so the MPs had to release him.

“Sorry, kid. Ellis is searching for anything which might support your version and provide solid evidence to put him away for a long time. We’re not going to rest until we find something.”

Clay held himself stiff, not liking one damned bit the turn of events. “And Cerb?”

“When Brock called a few hours ago to tell me Cerb was sick, he believed Clayton sought revenge against him because the hair missile christened and anointed the contents of his duffle.” When Clay appeared puzzled by his choice of words, Jason rephrased, “Cerb took a dump in Spencer’s bag on the plane and peed on it. Blackburn made Spencer put his pack in a plastic bag, and as the shithead returned to his seat, he tried to kick Cerb. When Cerb growled and lunged at him, Clayton pissed his pants.

“So, it seems highly likely he put something in Cerb’s food … but again we need proof. If his food test positive for poison, I’m certain NCIS will investigate this as attempted murder of a service member, as they are in your case.”

Clay nodded. “So who has a head injury and swelling?”

Jason couldn’t help the mirthless chuckle that emitted. “Sonny ran into a truck trying to get away from Ray and several support guys. You know how Sonny can get … he wanted to bash in Spencer’s face. He accidentally kicked Ray in the balls … and well, he’s feeling some pain. Sonny’s got a hard skull, so I doubt they will find any fractures.”

Noting the slumped shoulders, Jason quickly said, “Kid, none of this is your fault.” Clay’s words told him he completely misread the body language.

“I know. As soon as I can see, I’m gonna smash my fists into Spencer’s face for hurting Cerb and causing harm indirectly to Sonny and Ray. He’s gonna rue the day he hurt my brothers.”

Jason’s brows rose. “Hopefully, he’ll be behind bars by then. Not losing you to assault charges.”

“Be worth it to me,” Clay stated with conviction.

“Not to me. We need you on the team. Running without you isn’t something any of us liked while you rehabbed from the bombing in Manilla. We’ll let NCIS do its thing … and we’ll do ours. Things will sort out in the end. Blackburn informed me Admiral Droit won’t allow Clayton to operate as a SEAL again. So the brass believes you whether we can prove it or not.”

A nurse, built like a Sherman tank bustled in and headed straight for her patient. Jason sucked in a breath at the stern countenance, but his expression turned to one of surprise as her face morphed into a bright smile as she approached Clay.

“Mr. Spenser, I’m Shirley, your nurse.”

Clay tensed recognizing the voice. “Hi.”

“Simons will be along shortly with a wheelchair. I recall you like warm showers. We have a hydrotherapy bath on this floor, and I do believe a warm soak will ease your stiff muscles and do wonders for your shoulder.”

A grin crossed Clay features. “Sounds fantastic.”

“Now, it won’t be as long a soak as you might want … with your abrasions too long in the water won’t be good for you. Sit tight for a few more moments and Simons will come to get you and I’ll have your warm bath ready by the time you arrive.”

Shirley turned and peered at the exhausted man in the chair. “Master Chief, you need rest. I have been informed an MP is now stationed outside the door, so you can rest easy. No one without authorization will be admitted to this room.”

“MP?” Jason asked.

“By order of Lieutenant Commander Blackburn. I’m not entirely aware of the situation, but he wanted me to inform you.” As the door opened again, Shirley’s stern countenance returned. “Simons, you will use extreme care in moving the patient to the chair.”

“Yes, ma’am. Not a hair on his head will be out of place.” Simon Simons’ voice revealed the nurse intimidated him. He moved forward to the SEAL. Scuttlebutt indicated one of his own left him on the last mission … and he hoped if it was true the man would spend his life in prison for doing something so terrible. “Hi again, Clay. We’re going for a little ride to the shower room.”

Clay scooted to the edge of his bed, holding in his groan. “Hi, Simon. Let’s get this show on the road.”

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Hydrotherapy Room** _

Clay sighed, relaxing in the warm water. Not one to usually soak in a tub, the light massage of the swirling, jetted water soothed his aching muscles, especially his shoulder.

Simon sat on the stool, keeping watch, per Shirley’s instructions. She had grabbed him as he came out of the breakroom and he thought for sure he had done something wrong. Luckily, she only wanted him to get a wheelchair and meet her in Spenser’s room to take him to the shower room. He scurried to do her bidding, not wanting to earn her wrath.

“I think Nurse Shirley has a soft spot for you, Clay.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Cause I can’t think of a single time I’ve ever seen her smile since I’ve been stationed here. Except when she was talking to you just now. And normally it is the physiotherapists who order the whirlpool baths. I do believe she is smitten with you.”

Clay chuckled. “Fine by me if it means this little bit of heaven. Is there soap … can I wash my hair? Still feels sandy.”

“Sure. Hold out your hand, and I’ll pour a little in and then spray your hair to wet it.”

As he held out his hand, Clay asked, “Do you think you could round me up some PJ pants or scrubs bottoms. Not a fan of having my ass on display if I’m allowed to go for a stroll.”

“I’m not supposed to leave you alone.” Simon pulled the sprayer, tested the temperature and wetted Clay’s hair, careful not to get the bandages covering his eyes wet.

“Isn’t the linen supply close by? I’ll promise not to do anything but scrub my head. I’ll even wait for you to rinse, so my bandages stay dry.”

“Okay. I’ll only be a few seconds. But if Shirley finds you alone—”

Clay interjected, “I’ve got your back. This is all my idea, and I’ll make sure she knows.” He began a slow scrub one-handed, his sprained wrist released from the brace and currently resting in his lap. He counted his blessings that his injured wrist and shoulder were on the same side, otherwise, he would be dependent on others for too many things until one or the other mended.

Simon stepped out and entered the supply closet next door. He groaned when he didn’t find any scrubs or PJ pants … only more gowns, socks, and sheets. He grabbed a pair of non-slip socks and hurried down the hall to the second supply room.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Room 316** _

Blackburn strode into Trent and Clay’s room after a quick word with the MP standing guard, not expecting to be back so soon. His eyes landed on Jason, pleased to see him sleeping, and hating to have to wake him with bad news.

His eyes moved to Trent’s bed as he entered, finding him snoozing as expected. Trent was helped along by heavy-duty pain meds and his body’s reaction to the trauma he experienced. Three gunshot wounds, thankfully none striking in critical areas. Their best medic would be out for some time, but the doctor said he would recover fully and return.

Shifting his gaze to Clay’s bed, he scrunched his face … the kid wasn’t there. As he strode to the restroom, not hearing any movement, but also knowing the MP would’ve told him if Clay wandered out by accident, the room’s door opened again, admitting Ray and Sonny.

Blackburn pivoted, and louder than he intended snapped, “Where’s Spenser?”

Startled awake, Jason blinked open his eyes, noting the worried expression on Eric, the pained one on Ray as his best friend shifted, likely hurting, and Sonny’s angry mien when he chuckled, Jason said, “Relax, the kid is only in the shower room soaking in a tub.”

Ray and Sonny relaxed, but Eric tensed. “Where is that room?”

“Why?”

Moving to the door, Eric threw over his shoulder, “I got a call from security. Someone spotted Clayton entering the hospital through the loading docks, but they lost him. The kid might be his target.”

Three Bravo members rushed out after Blackburn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil muse at work, or so says my beta reader. Hope you enjoyed ... and again, not sorry about the cliffy.


	11. Splish-Splash Dangers of Taking a Bath

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Hydrotherapy Room** _

They say when one sense is taken away, other senses compensate. Clay wasn’t sure that was true or could happen in less than twenty-four hours, but upon hearing the door push open several moments after Simon left, he said, “You’re speedy. I’m about done scrubbing my hair.”

Silence and footfalls coming closer met his words. A spidey-sense it was not Simon began to creep in, and he wondered if Nurse Shirley was now glaring at him. As he lowered his hand in the water to rid himself of slippery soap and provide himself a little modesty, Clay started to defend Simon’s absence, “I’m the one who asked Simon to gra—”

His words abruptly halted as the simultaneous contact on the top of his skull and previously dislocated shoulder sent shards of pain rippling through him. Strong hands pushed him down and under the water. He barely got a deep breath in before his face plunged under. Clay grabbed at the arm holding his head, clawing at the skin trying to grip it and yank it from him. The person’s fingers seized his curls and held fast pushing with great force.

Kicking his feet, splashing water out of the tub, and striving to twist away, every muscle became taut, coiling for action. Unable to gain purchase on the slippery sides and bottom, he continued to struggle to get out of the grasp holding him under. Clay’s lungs burned for air as adrenaline rushed through him, and though counterintuitive to what his body wanted, to rise and be where air was plentiful, he let his body go limp, sliding further under the water.

His strategy worked in taking his attacker off balance, more of the person’s upper body would be forward of the center of gravity. He waited only a fraction of a second longer, Clay channeled all his strength and surged up as he wrenched the arm gripping his head. Pain shot through his shoulder again as the assailant squeezed and pushed.

But fortunately, his tactic worked enough for him to suck in a gulp of air before he was forced down again. Though muted through the water surrounding his ears, Clay recognized who tried to drown him when he spoke.

“Drown already! You are the curse of Bravo … you cursed me, and you need to die,” Spencer growled as he kept the blond who ruined everything below the surface.

Running out air and stamina, Clay tried once again to go limp and repeat his previous success, but this time Spencer was prepared and didn’t fall for his tactic. Searing tightness seized Clay’s chest, and his struggles lessened, not because he wanted too, but because lack of oxygen flowing through his brain robbed him of coordination and made him lightheaded. He started to fade, and his body reflexively took a breath, sucking in water.

“Hey, Clay, sorry I took lon … THE HELL!” Simons dropped the PJs and rushed at the man holding Clay’s head under the water. Shouting, “HELP! NEED HELP. NOW!” he tackled him, slamming both into the far wall.

Startled by the return of the orderly, his back aching from being rammed into the wall, Spencer used his superior close combat skills and smashed the man’s head into the floor, stunning him. He scrambled up and went for Clay as the source of all his problems clung to the side of the tub, sputtering and coughing. Spencer easily submerged Clay’s head again, and a satisfied sneer which morphed into a smirk crossed his face.

His glory didn’t last long as the door opened again and he was hit by a freight train, and hammered by a shower of fists … his head whipping back and forth as one after another strike turned him senseless in less than sixty seconds.

Simon roused during the onslaught … his comprehension slow to engage, but when he realized what was happening, he said, “Clay … is Clay alright?” He wiped blood dripping into his eye away, trying to see if Clay was above water. He collapsed back against the wall after he spotted the wet blond hair. His head spun with sickening speed, and as he grew nauseous, Simon had to close his eyes or he would spill his supper on the linoleum.

Ray and Blackburn pulled Jason off a bloody and unconscious Clayton. The master chief lost all control when they heard the yelling and burst in to find the coward drowning their kid. Jason breathed heavy, his rage still needing an outlet … he kicked the inert body wishing like hell he could beat him to death or strangle him. The piece of shit deserved to die.

Uncharacteristically, or perhaps more in character than anyone might believe, Sonny left the SOB to Jason and went straight for Clay. His arms went to support the kid, and his heart wrenched when Spenser jerked at his touch. “Simba, its Sonny. I got you, little buddy.” He rubbed circles on Clay’s back … like he did his nieces and nephews when the youngen’s were upset.

As Clay relaxed into his arms, although in an awkward position, Sonny drew the kid into a secure embrace as Clay started to shiver … not caring one whit what others thought or that his shirt was getting soaked.

In short order, the MP and a nursing staff flooded into the small room to render aid. Sonny refused to let the nurse take Clay from him. His little brother still gasped for air and coughed, and his uninjured hand had twisted his wet shirt in a death grip. Blackburn finally stepped in and said, “Take care of the other two first. We’ll move Clay as soon as he is ready.”

“But he may have inhaled water, he needs treatment,” Shirley stated, not liking to be ordered about on her watch.

“Bring a gurney to the door. We’re SEALs and well-versed in what to do for water inhalation. We’ll have him out of here shortly.”

As Eric spoke to the nurse, Ray and Jason shifted their focus from Clayton to Spenser and went into action.

After she directed someone to bring a gurney, Shirley gaped, awestruck at the efficient work of the three men in getting her patient out of the tub with great care with regard to his injuries and toweled him dry … all while Clay continued to hold fast to the man who kept calling him, Simba and whispering soothing words.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Outside Room 316** _

Sonny continued to pace, somewhat wobbly as he became dizzy. His emotions swirled the drain for the past half-hour he had been forced to remain outside the room. Had he only listened to Ray in the kennels and come straight to the hospital to sit with Clay, he would’ve been in the shower room with him, and the shitiot couldn’t have hurt his little brother. And a plus … he would’ve been in the prime spot and in shape to mete out payback when Spencer came into the room.

But he hadn’t, he wasn’t, and he didn’t. And all that made him all mixed up. Coughing from the room stopped him near the door, his hand about to push it open, needing to find out how Simba fared after his near-drowning, but a hand prevented him.

“Wait. The doctor said to stay out here until he is finished. And if you don’t listen, I’ll zip-tie you to a chair.” Ray was in charge of keeping Sonny corralled … again … while Blackburn dealt with the MPs and Clayton, and Jason was taken downstairs to the ER to have his hand x-rayed when his bloody hand started to swell. He likely busted a few knuckles when he struck Clayton’s jaw repeatedly.

“I should’ve been with Simba.”

“Yeah.” Ray agreed, no question in his mind. He shifted his stance to one more comfortable to his groin.

Sonny turned, took a few steps, leaned against the wall, and sunk until he sat on the floor. “I screwed up, and he almost drowned. I let my emotions cloud my better judgment.”

Taking a seat next to Sonny, Ray lay a hand on his thigh. “We’re only human, Brother. This whole situation is a mess. If Spencer had been kept in custody, Cerb, Clay, you, me, and Jason wouldn’t be in this sorry state. This is all Clayton’s fault … all of it. On the bright side, there is no disputing Clayton tried to kill the kid, and he’ll be charged with attempted murder at the very least.”

Sonny released a mirthless chuckle. “And he won’t be eating solids or breathing out of his nose for weeks. Never seen Jason lose his shit so completely.”

“Whether Jason recognizes it or not, the kid is like a son to him. It was fatherly rage you saw … a primeval desire to protect one’s own. It overrode all his training to remain detached. Not sure if that is a good thing … might spell the doom of this team.”

Sonny turned surprised eyes to Ray. “They wouldn’t split us up for this, would they?”

Ray sighed. “We aren’t the typical SEAL team. Sure, others care about their teammates, but the bond we share could be disastrous in the field. Cause us to make poor choices clouded by emotions … be willing to sacrifice the many for one rather than limiting loses.”

Rejecting the idea, Sonny shook his head. “No. Our bonds don’t weaken or compromise us. They link us. Keep us safer. Allow us to understand what the others are thinking when the shit hits the fan and act as one heart and one mind in six bodies. They make us stronger … better … and are the reason we’re the elite team of DEVGRU.”

“The cake-eaters don’t see it that way.”

“Blackburn does, and he won’t let them disband us.”

“I hope not. But there will be repercussions for Jason’s actions today. He nearly killed Clayton with his bare hands. Would’ve if me and Eric hadn’t been able to pull him off.”

“No loss if the coward died … would’ve saved the Navy the cost of a court-martial.” Sonny closed his eyes, his head pounding non-stop. Slamming into a truck left him sore from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Tomorrow he might be too stiff to move. He would likely be as black and blue as the kid. When the door opened, he only peered up, along with Ray, both aching too much to stand at the moment.

Shirley exited, not surprised to find two of the four waiting. Her tone soft, she said, “You can come in now. Clay is sleeping, so please keep your voices low.”

Ray stood and offered a hand to Sonny, helping his brother to his feet and noting him grimace. Turning to the nurse, Ray dug a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to her. “Dr. Taylor in the ER prescribe this painkiller for Sonny, but we came up to check on Clay before going to the pharmacy to fill it. Would you be able to have it delivered here? Don’t think Sonny is up to walking to the barracks at the moment.” What he left unsaid was, _neither am I … I have a date with an ice pack on my swollen nuts_.

Taking the slip, Shirley smiled. “Yes. I’ll have an orderly bring in two more recliners. Will be a tight fit, but I can see none of you will be leaving anytime soon.” She bustled down the hall toward the nurse’s station to take care of those items and the orders from Clay’s doctor.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – ER Treatment Area** _

Blackburn strode into Jason’s treatment bay and noted one swollen hand immersed in an ice bath as a nurse cleaned the abrasions on the other. He cocked up an eyebrow. “X-rayed yet?”

“No, still waiting. Apparently, a shithead with a broken jaw and nose is a priority. He should be in the morgue,” Jason groused, wanting to be upstairs with Clay.

“You don’t mean that.”

“The hell I don’t. He left the kid to die in Simir, poisoned Cerb, then tried to drown Clay. He betrayed his oath … all of us … and why? Because he possessed some false sense, he is better than Clay and deserved to be on Bravo. He’s fucking insane and needed to be put down.”

“I wouldn’t say the last too loud. He might try to use insanity as a defense,” Eric half-joked, attempting to lower Jason’s still simmering rage.

“All the more reason he should be six feet under. I swear if he walks—”

“Don’t you dare voice your thought out loud, I’m dealing with enough shit as it is and don’t need to add any more.” Eric rubbed his temples, his headache growing.

With difficulty, Jason shoved his anger in his hip pocket and stared at Eric, noting the deep stress lines in his face. “Sorry for making your job more difficult than usual. What is going to happen to Clayton?”

Eric nodded, acknowledging the apology. “MPs have him under guard at the moment. NCIS will be here shortly to take statements from all the witnesses. Simon Simons will be the most critical and carry the most weight since he is impartial and tried to stop the attack.”

“How is the orderly?” Jason’s freezing hand was lifted from the ice bath, and the nurse began to clean the slowly oozing scrapes.

“Banged up. A lump the size of a goose egg on his forehead and he required seventeen stitches. Fortunately, Simons possesses a thick skull like Sonny, and he didn’t suffer a fracture. Though, they are treating him for a mild concussion … he’s still sick to his stomach.”

“We owe him … he saved Clay.”

Eric sighed. “According to the nurse, he wasn’t supposed to leave Clay alone. He stepped out to grab the kid pants when Clay requested them. Not sure if Clayton would’ve tried attacked Spenser if Simons had been in the room.”

Jason considered the notion and winced as his nurse moved his fingers. Yep, probably busted. He moved his mind back to the conversation. “I’m not so certain. Clayton had bloodlust in his eyes. He might’ve snuck in and snapped Simons’ neck before going after Clay. He is a SEAL and capable of stealth and such actions. Going for pants might’ve saved Simons’ life too.”

Nodding Eric conceded the potential scenario and decided he needed to convey that to Nurse Shirley, so she didn’t go too hard on Simons … because the guy was trying to do something nice for Clay and in truth saved the kid’s life. “After you are done here, I suspect you will be up in Trent’s and Clay’s room.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll send the NCIS agents up there to speak with each of you shortly. I’m going to the kennels to check on Cerb and tell Brock what occurred here.” Eric started to leave, stopped, turned back to Jason, and added, “Jace, I’m not sure what repercussions are coming, but I’ll do all in my power to keep your team together.”

“I know … and thanks.” Jason hissed as his finger moved again, glad when an orderly appeared, ready to take him to the x-ray department.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Kennels** _

A smile broke out on Eric’s face as he strolled into the bathing area of the kennels. Brock’s chuckle combined with the hair missile sitting in the stainless-steel tub, covered in suds did his heart good. The sight presented was one of joy between the handler and his dog. Cerb getting a bath and the laughter meant the pup must be doing much better.

Eric started snickering as Cerb shook and sprayed Brock with water and suds. “Splish-splash looks like you and Cerb are takin' a bath.”

Brock pivoted and grinned at Blackburn. “Cerb’s feeling a bit better, and I wanted to clean him up. He loves baths.”

“I can see.” Eric’s grin slightly faded as he thought Clay must’ve been enjoying his bath before Clayton arrived. “What did the vet find?”

Brock turned back to Cerb, rubbing him as he ensured all the stench of vomit was removed as he said, “Samantha found a large quantity of dark chocolate powder mixed into his food. Chocolate is highly toxic to dogs.”

Eric nodded. “It contains a substance which interrupts their metabolic processes, right?”

“Yeah, and dark chocolate is the most dangerous. If Cerb had ingested more, besides suffering an upset stomach and vomiting, he could’ve experienced seizures, heart problems, and even death.” Brock reached for the handheld sprayer to rinse his dog. “Cerb will be on a special diet for a while, and not allowed to work until his system fully recovers.”

Eric stepped forward and scratched Cerb behind the ears where he liked it most. “I’m happy he is doing better. Did the vet indicate how long?”

“She wants him to rest for at least two or three weeks.”

“Alright, guess he will be rehabbing with Trent, Clay, Sonny, Ray, and Jason.”

Brock turned in surprise when three other members of his team were mentioned. Unfortunately, he forgot to release the trigger for the water and ended up spraying Eric in the face. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” Brock’s eyes widened, not believing he just soaked the lieutenant commander.

Eric burst out laughing, the tension of the day broken by a shower of water. He swiped his face and grabbed for one of the towels on the shelf.

“What happened to the guys? Sonny roared out of here, hellbent on finding the coward and showing him his fist repeatedly.” Brock resumed rinsing away the suds but halted when Eric began to tell him what happened. He sucked in a breath upon learning Clay almost drown and another sharp intake when Blackburn shared how Jason was the one, not Sonny to beat the shit out of Spencer.

“I can’t believe Sonny showed restraint. Figured with how he stormed out he would be the one with a busted-up hand.”

“Well, he might’ve if he hadn’t been hit by a truck.”

“WHAT?” Brock dropped to the stool next to the sink.

Eric related the full chain of events and finished as he said, “NCIS will be by soon to speak to you and the kennel master. Is there anything you need for yourself or Cerb?”

Cerb whined and pawed at Brock’s sleeve. They met gazes, and though Brock was still processing all Blackburn shared, he replied, “I’m good, but there is a shirt on Cerb’s bed in the barracks … he will want that tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll send it over if I can’t bring it myself. I’ll let you finish Cerb’s bath so he can rest.” Eric laid the towel on the edge of the bathing sink, patted Cerb’s head, patted Brock’s shoulder and turned to leave, wondering why Cerb would want a specific shirt.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Bravo Barracks** _

Eric stooped to pick up the shirt on Cerb’s pad at the foot of Brock’s bed. The answer to his quandary about why Cerb would want this particular shirt answered as he spied the 6B9 printed on the sleeve. He chuckled and decided to deliver it himself before going and checking on their kid.

Never had Eric commanded such a tight-knit group of sailors. Clay Spenser changed Bravo for the better when he joined. He challenged and brought out the best in his teammates and himself. Bravo gave Clay something he desperately needed too … a caring family. Clay was the Blessing of Bravo … not the curse.

He sincerely desired to keep Bravo together for all their sakes, but Jason’s action today put that in jeopardy. As a master chief, the leader of a team, Jason was held to a high standard and expected to maintain a level head in any situation. Striking the man and then restraining him would’ve been appropriate, whereas beating him senseless and only stopping because he was pulled off before he killed him, is where the problem lay. Jason losing his cool would be heavily scrutinized. The brass might question Jason’s ability to effectively command after such a reaction.

Eric would do his utmost to protect Jason’s position and the entire team. Each SEAL on their own were prime assets, but together, these six men outperformed all other DEVGRU teams … and he hoped at the end of the day that counted for something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See ... I didn't hurt Cerb too bad and Spencer Clayton got what he deserved ... almost. But now that Jason lost his cool ... what's gonna happen to the team? I hope not to keep you in suspense for too long as to the team's fate or Clay's ... because inhaling water could lead to secondary drowning. 
> 
> Oh and a huge thanks to those who take a moment to make a comment. I love reading them and they sometimes inspire parts of my stories.
> 
> And my research for something Cerb ate that caused him to get sick was enlightening to me. I had no idea many common people foods were so toxic to our furry friends. Garlic and onion surprised me the most ... I cook steak with those and often give little pieces of the leftovers to my three pups ... guess that treat is out for them now.


	12. Sympathetic Insight and Sight

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Room 316** _

Sonny eschewed the recliner, preferring to sit in the uncomfortable plastic chair closer to Clay’s bed, within contact distance. The hardest thing he had done in the last two hours was prying the kid’s fingers from his shirt when the doctor had told them to leave after wheeling him in here from the shower room. The second most difficult was staying outside the room when his little brother coughed and gasped, the distressing sounds tore at him, and he berated himself for not coming directly here from the kennels.

The somewhat peaceful countenance now belied Clay’s struggle to maintain an appropriate level of oxygen saturation. Mostly, Sonny kept his eyes on the fogging of the mask caused by every labored breath, and only shifted them on occasion to read the SpO2 percentage which still hovered near ninety-five even with the high-flow of supplemental oxygen.

Upon being allowed to enter, the doctor explained more than Sonny ever wanted to hear about drowning, and most of the medical jargon would require Trent’s translation at some point. But when he asked if Clay might suffer secondary drowning, Sonny got an earful from said doctor about there being no such thing. With emphasis, the smug doctor stated the medical definition of drowning is the process of experiencing respiratory impairment from submersion or immersion in liquid, and drowning has only three possible outcomes, death, survival with injury or illness, or survival with no injury or illness.

 _‘Well, no shit Sherlock!’_ is what he said at the time, much to the doctor’s annoyance. Sonny didn’t give a rat’s ass how they classified what happened to Clay, the fact remained, his little brother inhaled water and now struggled to breathe as a result. His shortness of breath and wheezing were tangible signs of respiratory distress, which might turn into pneumonia or worse. Sonny hated viewing the many leads and corresponding wires plastered to the kid’s godawful black and blue chest which ran to a machine providing constant cardiac telemetry.

When Clay coughed again and became agitated in his sleep, Sonny’s hand snaked over Clay’s and squeezed. “Easy, Simba, easy. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” A sigh escaped Sonny as Spenser settled, and a slight uptick of the corners of his lips indicated Clay’s reaction pleased him … happy his presence calmed his brother.

Sonny shifted his gaze when the door slowly opened. His sore body tensed, preparing to defend Clay, although he was aware Spencer Clayton was two floors up, secured to his bed by shackles and two MPs stood watch, one inside Spencer’s room, and one outside Clay’s and Trent’s.

Jason strolled in, his time in the ER extended as more urgent cases came in and required the staff’s immediate attention. A group of intoxicated sailors on shore leave accidentally set their rented sailboat on fire resulting in severe burns and complications arising from smoke inhalation, so a couple of dislocated knuckle joints got shoved to the back burner.

He stopped at Trent’s bed, noting he still slept. When their medic finally woke from his drug-induced slumber, he would likely be stunned by the turn of events. Moving to Clay’s bed, he nodded in greeting to Ray, who sat with a cold pack in his lap. “How is he?”

Sonny gazed at Jason’s splint, which kept all four fingers and his wrist immobile. “Holding his own. What about you?”

“Two broken knuckles. Gonna be wearing this for several weeks, but I’m fine. NCIS been up?”

“Not yet,” Ray answered. “Not sure what’s taking so long. Blackburn said they would be here shortly and that was hours ago.”

“Spoke to Eric before I came up. He said Cerb is doing a bit better. He’ll be off-duty a few weeks too.” Jason went on to explain what the vet found and the fact Brock would be staying with Cerb while his dog was under the vet’s care and would likely not be coming to visit until Cerberus was healthy enough to leave the kennels.

“Brock’s where he needs to be,” Sonny stated. None of them would begrudge Reynolds for staying with the hair missile.

Jason moved to one of the recliners, needing to rest, his exhaustion visible in his red eyes, shuffling walk, and haggard features. Leaning back, he shut his eyes and propped his injured hand on a pillow, thankful for the pain reliever the ER doctor gave him. The three men slipped into a companionable silence; no words needed at this time while they waited for the NCIS agent to show up.

Fighting his way up the deep pit, Trent found himself in a confusing world of swirling colors, sounds, and pain. Blinking several times, trying to focus, his lids finally remained up. His side and shoulder throbbed as if on fire, and it took him a moment to recall he had been shot.

Although the dimness of the room indicated it must be night, Trent wondered if the shades had been pulled. He continued to stare at the ceiling, not really in any shape or having any desire to move a single muscle, yet his mouth seemed to be filled with cotton, and he desperately wanted something to drink. His voice sounded hoarse and husky as he requested, “Water, please.”

Ray bolted out of his chair, a motion he regretted as he winced, but reaching the plastic pitcher, he poured a small amount in the cup and stuck the bendy straw in it. “Only sips.”

Sucking in water and letting it swish around, Trent’s gaze turned to Jason who appeared on the opposite of Ray, and his brows scrunched together seeing his splinted hand. His tongue pushed out the straw. “Hurt?”

“Minor. You in pain?” Jason brushed aside his own pain, glad to see Trent awake and speaking.

“Some. Morphine pump?”

“Yes. Want a dose?” When Trent gave a slight nod, Ray pressed the button then set it within Trent’s reach. “For later. Brother, you gave us quite a scare. Three holes are three too many.”

“Sorry. Clay … did you … get him? Is he … alive?”

“The kid’s right over here, Trent,” Sonny said as he stood … slowly. He rethought his decision to go to Trent’s beside as every muscle reminded him how stupid he had been to sprint around a corner without checking for vehicles, and he sat again.

Trent turned towards Sonny’s voice and his medic brain engaged through the fog. “His status?”

“He’s in capable hands,” Ray attempted to reassure Trent, who was never truly happy with any doctor except Dr. Irving.

“Not … what … I … asked,” Trent ground out as he shifted a little to see Clay better and caused his pain to spike. His eyes took in the strapped arm and bandaged eyes, but he focused on the heart monitor and the SpO2 readout.

“Easy, Trent,” Jason lay his hand on Trent’s uninjured shoulder.

“O-two not good, should be higher. What happened? Shot? Eyes?” He licked his dry lips.

“Take a few more sips, and we’ll tell you what occurred.” Ray positioned the straw for Trent again.

“Okay. Spill it. How bad is he?” Trent blinked several times fighting the pull to return where nothing hurt. His lashes dropped down. “Short version.”

Jason opened his mouth to start when a light rap on the door preceded its opening, and the MP poked his head in. “Master Chief Hayes, NCIS Supervising Agent DiNozzo is here.”

“Let him in.” Jason raked a hand through his hair as Trent’s eyes snapped open. “Whatever you miss, Trent, we’ll fill in later.”

A tall, athletic agent with a bright smile and keen green eyes took in the state of the men he needed to interview. By reputation, he singled out the leader of the SEAL team. “Master Chief, I’m Tony DiNozzo. I need you, Senior Petty Officer Perry, and Petty Officer Quinn to come with me, please. I’ve arranged conference rooms on this floor.”

Jason shook his head. “I’m not leaving my men.”

“I ain’t going nowhere Simba isn’t,” Sonny declared.

Tony and his agents had already taken statements from everyone else. The hospital staff, the MP, Bravo’s support team, Petty Officer Reynolds, the kennel master, Lieutenant Commander Blackburn, and Petty Officer Clayton. He waited to do these three, and Spenser last, hoping to have enough collaborating details where he might bend the rules slightly, but not enough to jeopardize the discovery process.

“I’ll make a slight concession. If two of you wait outside, I’ll conduct the interviews here. That way, one of you is always in here, and the other two are right outside the door should your presence be required.” Tony waited, judging their reactions. Quinn, the Texan, surely didn’t want to leave, he would be as stubborn as a bull, but likely follow Hayes’ directions. Perry, the second in command, readily agreed, seeing and accepting the compromise. Hayes, he simply appeared worn to a frazzle and nodded as he indicated he would go first.

“Jace, … where’s Brock, Cerb?” Slow on the uptake due to the meds, Trent only now realized two of the team were missing.

Returning his attention to Trent. “Relax. Both are okay. Brock is with Cerb in the kennels. The hair missile needs some TLC, but the vet says he’ll be okay.”

“Vet? Jesus, what the hell did I miss?”

Tony understood from his interview with Blackburn that Sawyer would be unaware of the events, having been shot in their hasty exfil. “I’ll give you a moment to give him a brief recount, while I set up and the other two can step out.”

Grasping the back of one of the chairs, Ray started for the door, but Sonny stayed put. Ray halted, waiting for Sonny and he grinned as the soft teddy bear inside of Sonny came out.

Sonny leaned close to Clay, his voice smooth and calm, although he was anything but tranquil leaving the kid’s side. “Simba, I’m gonna be right outside. Jace and Trent are in here with you. They won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll be back shortly.”

As he started to move away, Clay’s hand reached out and snagged his shirt sleeve, holding on with surprising strength. _Aw shit! I can’t pry his hand off again … not again._ Sonny lay his hand over Clay’s. “Are you awake, kid?” He waited for a reply, hating that gauze concealed his eyes. “Clay?”

When Clay didn’t answer and didn’t let go, Sonny peered over at Jason. “I can’t leave him. Not prying the kid’s hand from me a second time.”

DiNozzo silently observed the interplay between the men as the team leader moved to Spenser and tried to solve the dilemma by speaking soft words to reassure the blond sailor. Hayes wasn’t quite as gruff as Gibbs … couldn’t be because he didn’t have an extra b in his name which stood for bastard. But shades of what he recalled when Gibbs came to his room when he had the plague could be seen in the way Hayes spoke to Spenser and brushed at his hair.

Memories of long ago and far away rushed in. People who had been important in his life … those he lost. He would give anything to turn back the hands of time and be back in D.C. with Gibbs when he, Kate, Abby, Ducky, and Probie worked together … return to his life in Camelot before everything went to shit after Ari killed Kate.

Tony comprehended what being part of a well-oiled team was like. One which became his family. How he would do anything to save anyone of them. How his heart ripped to shreds when he stood on that rooftop, laughing one moment with Gibbs and Kate, and the next his face splattered with her blood and she was gone … stripped away from him in a heartbeat.

Nothing was quite the same after Kate died. They lost their spark, and the slow spiral down began. Her death had been the first crack which eventually destroyed everything Tony loved and everything since had been muted and mere imitations and illusions of what he once had. What he cherished and now missed as he went through the motions after his transfer to the Roto office to lead his own team.

So, Tony sympathized and recognized with perfect clarity what he was witnessing, and he didn’t want the magic of this team to disappear. Although he shouldn’t, Tony cleared his throat and said, “Stay. Everyone stay. I’ve gotten enough evidence from all the other sources to prove Petty Officer Clayton attempted to murder Petty Officer Spenser. Your statements will not affect the outcome one way or the other, so stay.”

Sonny grinned, his hand going over Clay’s. “Hear that? I’m not goin’, Simba.” His smile grew as the tension seemed to ebb out of Clay’s body, and although his grip lessened a little on his sleeve, the kid didn’t let go.

Everyone took seats, and the interview process began. Trent struggled to remain awake to hear everything, though his mind drifted a few times to a sanctuary from his pain. He couldn’t believe the series of events which befell his team. Clay’s initial and subsequent injuries. Cerb poisoned. Ray kicked by Sonny as he tried to keep him from doing something stupid. Sonny hit by a truck. Jason busting up his hand while beating the shit out of Clayton. He almost believed he hallucinated some of it … but physical evidence didn’t lie.

In the last hour, Tony ran through the entire scenario with the three sailors. He shut his folder as he peered at Spenser. “Thank you. When Spenser is up to it, I’ll need to take his statement as well. But as I said before, we have enough to convict Clayton of attempted murder with the tub incident and poisoning the dog.”

“How can you prove it was him who put the dark chocolate in Cerb’s food?” Ray asked.

Tony stood and preparing to go, shared a few findings, “Once Sergio, the kennel master, calmed he recalled the surveillance cameras installed last year. He provided footage of Clayton dumping a bag into Cerberus’ dish and stirring it around. I only wish we had solid evidence to lay the Article 99 charges.”

Having entered and overheard the last sentence, Eric strode forward with an envelope. “Ask, and you shall receive.”

“Blackburn?”

Eric handed the file to DiNozzo. “After we spoke, Ms. Ellis and I went back to review all the satellite imagery from the night of the operation. In my attempt to locate my men when comms went down, I managed to persuade them to reposition a satellite. Although it didn’t help me at the time, since Bravo had already rescued Spenser, these photos corroborate his statement of events.”

Interested, they all gathered around as DiNozzo flipped open the folder to view the images.

Eric tapped the top one. “This shows thirteen insurgents dead in the field, which was exfil pos B.”

Tony went to the next photo.

“This is zoomed in on one tango. Note the missing eye and slit throat as well as the scimitar lying next to the dead man. All correspond to Clay’s report.” Eric turned to the next one. “An this is a close up of tire tracks which Ms. Ellis’ analysts will testify as matching the vehicle driven by Clayton, and note the area with disturbed gravel.”

“The coward …  spun out … and left … me,” a raspy, breathless voice said.

Everyone whipped their heads to Clay’s bed. Jason strode over and resettled the oxygen mask on the kid’s face. “Keep this on.”

“He tried … to drown … me … like Ashhole.” Clay’s mask fogged up with the words.

“Shhhh, Simba. No talking. He ain’t gettin’ away with any of it.” Sonny smiled, glad to eliminate possible brain damage from lack of oxygen … the kid spoke and remembered what happened.

“Got one … question?” Clay gazed at Sonny.

“Okay, one only for now,” Jason said.

“Did I … really hear … Flight of … the Valkyries?” Clay coughed several times and wheezed as he tried to recover enough air.

“Yes, you did.” Sonny launched into how he discovered the CD in the stereo and decided to use it as a distraction when they made their assault.

Tony gathered the evidence and slipped out without another word as the four men gathered around the two beds. He sighed and wished his family was still together … like Bravo’s.

* * *

_**Four Days Later** _

_**Rota, Spain – Naval Hospital – Room 316** _

Tension filled the room as Jason, Sonny, Ray, Brock, and Eric stood against the wall, their gazes centered on Clay’s bed. Trent also turned his head in that direction after inclining his bed a bit more to view the kid as Shirley dimmed the lights. Today would be the day of truth … the potential of which they all blatantly refused to discuss.

“Mr. Spenser, keep your eyes shut until I tell you to open them.” Dr. Veach reminded his patient. When he had been called in five days ago, he had his work cut out for him when he discovered the amount of sand and grit particles in this sailor’s eyes. His corneas had been scratched by the sand and his eyes natural defense mechanism set in, making it near impossible to separate Spenser’s lids to bathe the eyes with a sterile solution. He had to sedate him to relax the muscles.

Clay’s fingers curled in the sheet, worried that if his sight was impaired, his days of an operator would be over. Over the past few days, as his labored breathing eased. Luckily, avoiding pneumonia, he no longer worried about his lungs preventing his return. However, his lack of sight remained a constant reminder of what he might lose.

He sucked at being blind. He stubbed his toes and knocked things over too many times on trips to the bathroom. And once he ran smack dab into the doorjamb when he acted like an idiot and eschewed Sonny’s help. The Texan laughed his ass off and told him it served him right for being a stubborn mule.

Clay had to concede he had been a full-fledged jackass occasionally, but thoughts of never seeing again drove him to act out a few times, especially when it came to eating. After several unsuccessful attempts to spoon up peas one night, he ended up throwing his plate. He was sorry his dish smacked Brock who was sleeping in the chair.

After Jason laid into him, which seemed like a lecture from a pissed off dad, the guys made sure all his meals excluded foods which could roll away. In fact, most everything except the raspberry sherbet Brock kept supplying him with became finger foods … sub sandwiches, carrot sticks, chips … which made it much easier to eat one-handed. And his beverages always had covers on them, so he didn’t spill them after knocking over several sodas and cups of water the first couple of days.

His brothers took care of him and Trent, someone always in the room to lend a hand to either one of them. Last night, Brock snuck Cerb in for a short visit too. Both he and the hair missile enjoyed a snuggle. It still made Clay sick to his stomach to think Clayton poisoned Cerb … and was glad the pup didn’t scarf down his food as he usually did, or he might be gone now.

As the tape and patches were removed from his eyes, Clay sucked in a breath. He became anxious and his stomach somersaulted while waiting for the doctor to give him the okay.

“Alright. Now, I’m going to shield your left eye first, and I want you to open both. Things might be blurry, to begin with, so don’t panic if your vision isn’t clear.” Veach held a shield to one eye.

Clay fisted his hand in the sheet and twisted, scared to open.

Silently moving forward, Jason covered Clay’s hand with one hand, and the other rested on his shoulder. “Whatever the result is, we will be here for you.”

“We won’t abandon you, brother,” Ray murmured just loud enough for Clay to catch.

Trent swallowed the lump in his throat. Give him a gunshot wound, and he could help, but eyes were out of his league, so he waited with bated breath, the suspense killing him and hoping the kid could see.

Sonny remained quiet. His little brother’s struggles over the last five days left him an emotional wreck. A single call to Davis helped him some, but he couldn’t dismiss the dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach. It was the same as when the bomb in Manila almost took his brother away.

“I can always train you a seeing-eye dog,” Brock quipped to break the tension.

Clay chuckled, not sure why those few words gave him the courage to open. Bit by bit, his lashes lifted. Though slightly blurry, the first thing he spied was Sonny’s somber expression. He grinned and spoke Swahili, “Hakuna matata, Pumbaa.”

Sonny’s face split into a grin. “Who ya calling Pumbaa?”

“You … if you insist on calling me Simba, then you’re Pumbaa.”

Trent laughed with relief. “Sonny sure smells like a warthog.”

The ophthalmologist stifled a chuckle as the sailors devolved into a session of razzing one another. He let it go on for several minutes, before interrupting the stress-relieving activity. “Alright. So. You have sight in your right eye. Let’s check the left.” He shifted the shield.

A soft sigh emitted before Clay said, “Fuzzier than the other, but I can see.”

Veach lowered the shield. “Good. The blurriness should diminish in a day or two. But for several weeks, keep the lights low, and wear sunglasses when exposed to sunlight. I’ll check back in before you are released and schedule a full exam. But I believe it is safe to say, your corneas will recover and your vision will be fully restored.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Clay said as he peered at each one of his brothers for the first time in days, taking in their tired countenances, grateful for all they had done for him. _One heart … six bodies … my brothers._

After the doctor and nurse left, Sonny moved to Clay’s bed. “We got more good news today.”

“What?”

“The coward is officially being charged with Article 99 among others and is being shipped stateside to a pre-trial confinement facility in Connecticut today, and …” Sonny turned to Jason, who gave him a slight nod indicating he could share. “Bravo is still intact. Blackburn said Captain Harrington and Admiral Droit were swayed by Agent DiNozzo’s report not to take any action against Jason for losing his cool.”

Clay blinked, his eyes watering, he would claim if anyone asked, that it was due to just being uncovered after almost a week, but in truth, they were evidence of the relief which surged through him. “What did the report say?”

Jason shook his head. “No clue. Eric isn’t privy to the contents, nor are we. But whatever it contained was enough to sway the cake-eaters not to split us up. We are also staying in Spain instead of returning stateside. Mandy is building a target package for IIB and el-Sylla, and once we’re cleared for duty, we’ll be running with Alpha to track them down.”

“Good.” Clay leaned back and shut his eyes as his smile remained. He would be back with his family. Somehow, he beat the odds again … and Atropos had not used her shears to sever his life-thread yet. He hoped the Three Sisters of Fate measured out a long thread for him and his brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the little cameo of Tony DiNozzo. My version of him is a little AU, he took the Rota, Spain gig. Didn't like how they wrote the character after he rescued Ziva ... they could've and should've done better with him. Since Tony is in only one chapter, not tagging this story as a cross-over.
> 
> A little breather for Clay and the guys on the physical whump ... they do have to heal at some point so I can whump them again.


	13. Stir-Crazy, Switzerland, and Sorrow

_**Six Weeks Later – Rota, Spain – Bravo Barracks** _

Sitting cross-legged on his bunk, Clay slapped down his card, sick of playing solitaire, reading books, sitting on the sidelines, and doing absolutely nothing of importance for the past two weeks. The only thing of any value he had done in the last six weeks was testifying at Spencer’s court-martial. Each of them reported to NCIS headquarters, and when called by the lawyers, Agent DiNozzo escorted them to the MTAC conference room, where they testified via a secure video feed.

What Clay wanted to be doing was going with Alpha, Ray, Sonny, Brock, and Cerb to round up more IIB sect leaders. He was still not cleared for duty, though his shoulder, wrist, and lungs seemed fine to him. While he languished here, rehabbing with Trent and Jason, the others brought in five mid-level leaders.

He glanced over at Jason, his team leader going as stir-crazy as he and Trent. Hayes’ inability to do more than sit in Havoc and help plan the mission strategy made him irritable and turned him into a snapping turtle … or great white shark depending on the situation. Clay tried to smooth things over when Jason became snippy, feeling responsible in a way for Jason’s injury.

Clay still couldn’t believe Jason went to town on Spencer’s face, breaking the man’s nose and jaw. But a space in his heart and mind clung to the fact Jason would risk his career to save him … something his own father never would’ve done.

Wanting to relieve his boredom, Clay said, “Can we go to the bar tonight?”

“I’m in if Jace is cool with it.” Trent lifted his eyes from his medical textbook, brushing up on things with all his spare time. Rehab for his shoulder didn’t take up near enough hours in his day to keep him from being antsy to be out there with the rest of the guys. Although his daily siestas seemed to help pass the time … and sadly, he needed them after his PT sessions. Getting shot sucked, and he had a renewed appreciation for all the work Clay put into returning to them after Manila, Tibet, Mexico, Ecuador, Australia … hell even Argentina.

Jason turned to his other two cellmates … or so it seemed. Blackburn was being a stickler that he didn't return to active duty until he finished the mandatory rehab for his hand. As far as he was concerned, he had regained full use last week, but the doctor still wouldn’t clear him for duty and Jason didn’t understand why.

“Depends on whether I’ll be in Havoc or not.” Jason’s eyes communicated without words that Clay better not try to talk him into allowing him to go alone or with Trent only. He walked a fine line of being overly protective of Spenser and relenting just enough to keep the kid from doing something stupid again.

The door opened and in walked Ray, Sonny, Cerb, Brock, and Eric, all wearing huge smiles. Blackburn stopped next to Clay and said, “We received some great news.”

“What? I’m cleared to return?” Clay asked, hoping.

“Well, not that great, but something you will be interested in hearing.” Eric glanced at Jason and returned his focus to Clay. “The panel deliberated taking in all the testimony from you and the others, along with the corroborating evidence and have returned a verdict. Captain Harrington called to inform me Clayton was convicted on all counts. He will be spending the next twenty years in prison.”

Clay smiled. “A reason to celebrate. So, Jace, the bar?”

“Eric, do we have a mission tonight?” Jason asked.

“No. Mandy is still interrogating the latest detainee. Details she’s gathered so far indicate it will take several weeks to determine the next target. As such, I’m standing down Alpha and Bravo for a one-week R and R. You are allowed to leave the base and Spain, but you need to stay in Europe.” He turned to Ray. “Sorry, no stateside visits.”

“Understood. Naima isn’t expecting me home for several months anyway.” As much as he missed his wife and kids, Ray understood. It was rare to be given any break during a deployment, so he would be happy with a little downtime.

Turning back to Jason, Eric grinned. “By then you should be cleared for active duty, and Clay too.” Shifting his gaze to Trent, “And you’ll be a week closer.”

The mood light, the guys decided to go to the Sorry Sailor to celebrate.

* * *

_**Rota, Spain – Lo Siento Marinero Pub** _

Clay returned to the table with the next round of beer, having been allowed to go alone to get the pitchers. The guys refrained from being overly in his face, and treated him as an equal rather than a child, though they did razz him by warning him what would happen if he snuck off with another woman without telling them. His good mood couldn’t be ruined … not after what Blackburn shared earlier.

He took his seat and poured beer for Sonny, Trent, and himself as Brock took the second pitcher and poured for the others. “So, did we decide where we’re going?”

“Why not stay here … senoritas, sailing, sun, and sand … perfect vacation spot.” Trent lifted his mug and took a swig.

Clay grimaced. “I’m sick of sand.”

“Betcha are.” Sonny leaned back and chewed on his toothpick. “Where do you want to go?”

“Someplace not sandy … not hot.”

Simon, who Clay invited to join them tonight to thank him for saving his life, suggested, “How about the Swiss Alps? My wife and I love to go to Zermatt in southern Switzerland. You can ski year-round, and in summer there are great trails for hiking. My sister-in-law is a travel agent, and she can get you smoking deals on flights, train tickets, and hotels. Also on any rental gear, you guys might need. Doubt you came with winter apparel or skis.”

Clay’s eyes lit up. “Never been to the Alps … sounds perfect.”

Jason and Ray shared a glance, noting the kid-like eagerness, neither could go against him, not after everything Clay had endured. Jason said, “Somewhere chilly fits the bill for me too.”

“Brother, I’m in if the others are.” Ray shifted his gaze and noted Trent and Brock were nodding … both also wanting to satisfy Clay’s desire.

“Cerb loves to snowboard.”

“Your dog snowboards?” Simon’s gaze flicked to the dog sitting in the seat next to Brock, not quite certain how he managed to get the proprietor to allow Cerb to come in.

“Yep. Cerb’s talented.” Brock grinned and patted his pup.

Trent laughed. “I’ve got twenty that says Cerb is better at snowboarding than Sonny.”

“Make it fifty, and I’ll take you up on that.” Sonny reached for his beer. “Might be raised in Texas, but spent a fair amount of time skiing in the Sierra Nevadas while stationed in San Diego.”

For the next hour the guys discussed their plans, Simon called his sister-in-law who happily made the arrangements for them. By the time they headed back to the barracks, they were all set and excited to leave the next morning. What none of them noticed is they were the subject of a man’s attention all evening. He grinned and pulled out his phone as he left the bar.

* * *

_**Glacial Express En Route to Zermatt, Switzerland**_

Jason relaxed in his seat on the train. They were on the last leg of their trip to Zermatt, which turned out to be car-free, so they chose to take a train ride instead of the shuttle bus. He couldn’t keep the smirk from his face as he observed Clay holding court with several Swiss snow bunnies. Their kid impressed the blonde women by speaking French, which was one of four official languages spoken in Switzerland. His handsomeness probably had something to do with it too, but that wasn’t something Jason typically thought about.

Ray nudged Jason. “Think were gonna see much of him in the next four days?”

“Think we’re going to need to set some ground rules … check-in times and such.”

A chuckle emitted from Trent. “Sonny won’t be letting him out of his sight.” He shifted, his shoulder aching and ready for a siesta, which he wouldn’t get until after they checked into their bed and breakfast.

“That is if he can keep up,” Brock chimed while surreptitiously watching Clay as Cerb snoozed on his lap.

“Yeah, the kid will give Sonny a run for his money.” Jason settled back, looking forward to the mostly stress-free vacation ahead of them, though he did wonder how this came about. Bravo is on deployment, so this is unheard-of territory even given the injuries everyone suffered seven weeks ago.

He pondered who pulled strings because although Blackburn is good … great even … Jason doesn’t believe Eric is the one who sent them off on holiday. If they had been given a specific destination, Jason’s ever-vigilant mind could come up with several probable situations … like covertly pre-positioning them for an op. But because they were given free-reign to choose their location, the likelihood seemed rather slim.

Deciding to chalk it up to some cake-eater trying to ensure Bravo was well-rested before continuing to track down the IIB big hitters, Jason allowed his eyes to shut, knowing Sonny would keep an eye on the kid. He drifted to sleep, wishing he could’ve brought Emma and Mikey along on a vacation of a lifetime, but realizing they were where they wanted to be … Emma at Tish and the hockey school for Mikey.

The team’s shadow sat several rows back silently making notes. To anyone around, he appeared to be a distinguish businessman with salt and pepper hair doing a bit of work. No one would suspect his real motive, particularly not his intended target.

He pulled up two photos. One snapped some time ago showing a blond, blue-eyed man beaten and swinging from a hook in Mexico. The last, only seven weeks old, showed him hanging by his wrists in Simir. He was a patient man, but soon he would strike, and vengeance would be his. 

* * *

_**Three Days Later – Zermatt, Switzerland - Bed and Breakfast** _

Clay wandered into the dining room wearing yesterday’s clothes. He sat next to Sonny and snagged a sausage from his plate as he grinned and tipped back on the back two legs.

“Look what the cat dragged back in,” Sonny quipped as he grabbed for his sausage, but the little shit popped it into his mouth before he could retrieve it.

“Hope he doesn’t have scratch marks on his back again.” Trent eyed the kid who hadn’t slept in his room a single night.

“Nah. Sofia was feisty but kept her claws sheathed.” Clay gave them all a cocky grin and reached for another sausage, this time from Brock’s plate, but the dog handler slapped his hand.

“Go grab your own plate.” Brock slid his meal further away from Clay. He couldn’t believe Spenser got lucky with several different women every night based on the number of little foil packets restocked by Trent each day. The kid was certainly sowing his oats and enjoying himself with many willing snow bunnies.

Spenser dropped his chair to all four legs and rose, going to the sideboard where the lady who ran this bed and breakfast laid out a self-serve buffet. He chose Bürli, a soft bread, strawberry jam, a few sausages, and poured coffee before returning to the guys. They discussed their plans for the day, more snowboarding for Clay, Sonny, and Brock, and skiing for Jason and Ray.

Trent decided on another quiet day with his book while sitting on the porch with a picturesque view of the Alps. He tried skiing the first day but swiftly realized his shoulder wasn’t quite up to the rigors of hitting the slopes. Brock suggested Cerb might like to play bloodhound and spend a lazy day with Trent. They all saw through the thinly-veiled ruse, none of them wanting to leave Trent all alone. Trent accepted, and Cerb appeared happy with the decision.

After breakfast concluded, Clay trotted up to his room to shower, change, and grab his rented snowboard, eager for another day of fun. The others lingered over hot coffee as the rest of the tourists staying at the bed and breakfast came in, ate, and left for their planned activities, including a man with salt and pepper hair.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland -** **Cable Car** _

His eagerness apparent to the others, they let Clay go first in line. Trying to hold the kid back was as useless as a sewing thimble for bailing out a sinking ship. The cable cars held twenty-eight people and took nine minutes to reach the summit. As soon as Clay stepped forward and into the car, the conductor put out a hand to stop the next person as he said, “Voll.”

“Simba, get off … we’ll go together on the next one,” Sonny growled, understanding voll meant full but spotting three open seats. He didn’t want to be separated from his little brother. Yeah, he was acting over-protective again, but Sonny couldn’t stop himself after all the shit which had befallen the kid recently.

Clay turned, intending to comply but the doors shut in his face. He called out loudly, “I’ll wait for you guys at the top.”

After noting Sonny’s less than pleased countenance, Clay moved forward and sat in an open seat, noting the other two. He supposed the guy who closed the doors must’ve lost count. The dude to his right who wore a dull blue jacket jostled him as he shifted his snowboard, knocking him into the person on his left.

Something stung his left arm, and Clay turned his head to peer at a man with black hair liberally sprinkled with white. He didn’t see anything which would’ve poked him, so said, “Sorry for bumping you.”

“No problem. Tight fit.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and with ease, capped the needle of the syringe.

Halfway up the mountain, a floaty sensation caused Clay to sway in his seat, and within thirty seconds, he slumped over into the lap of the man to his left.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland -** **Summit** _

Ray, Jason, Brock, and Sonny stepped out of their cable car and moved to the area where people donned their skis and prepared to go down the mountain. Scanning, they all searched for a bright orange jacket and a neon green knit cap. They selected the color to ensure Spenser was visible to them, and the kid begrudgingly agreed to wear them.

Finding a sea of blue, white, red, purple … hell, every color of the rainbow except orange, Jason barked, “Where’s Spenser?”

Ray pointed to the slope. “There! On the black diamond trail.”

They all spied the signature orange and green denoting their brother as he snowboarded down the most challenging path.

“He said he would wait. I’m gonna turn him over my knee and spank the shit—” the avalanche warning siren stopped Sonny’s rant.

People screamed, pointed, stood, and watched in horror as snow raced down the mountain heading directly for the black diamond runs.

Sonny, Jason, Ray, and Brock stared, helpless to do anything, their hearts seizing as a wall of snow engulfed Clay and others. Not a speck of orange or green visible as the snow continued its destructive and deadly path.

* * *

_**Zermatt, Switzerland -** **Cable Car Station** _

“Help, please,” he called out when the doors opened to the chaotic scene at the bottom of the lift as most people were more interested in peering up at the speeding avalanche. He held in his smile as no one paid him any heed.

Slinging the arm of the semi-conscious man wearing a dull blue jacket over his shoulders and slipping his own arm around the blond’s waist, he started walking. Things worked out exactly as he planned, and he couldn’t care less about the loss of life because he gained his target. His patience paid off, and now, Spenser was his.

He would enjoy slowly and painfully seeking his vengeance. The other members of Bravo would not hinder him. They would believe Spenser to be dead and buried under a ton of snow. They would be right in one of those two assumptions. Eventually, Spenser would die, but his body would never be recovered.

Sofia Tanzer turned away from the horror before her … her heart broke for those caught in the unexpected avalanche. She took several steps to a bench and sank down. Last night with Clay had been fun, her trip here everything she anticipated until this tragedy. As the ski patrol raced past her, Sofia caught a glimpse of blond hair. She watched as a man half-carried the blond who appeared dunk.

Recognizing Clay, she rose and speculated if she incorrectly assumed he was drunk, especially given the early hour. She recalled his over-bearing buddies, and a sickening thought came to her. _Maybe he is overcome by emotions. What if his friends are buried under the snow?_

She started forward, thinking a friendly face might be helpful if Clay just lost his buddies. A throng of emergency personnel blocked her path as they surged towards the cable cars needing to get to the top of the mountain to begin the search and rescue efforts. By the time it was clear, she lost track of Clay. She spun in circles, scanning. “Where’s Clay?”

* * *

_**Next Day – Zermatt, Switzerland - Bed and Breakfast** _

After more than twenty-four exhausting hours, five somber men and one sad dog traipsed into their lodgings. Once their initial shock wore off, Jason called Trent to bring Cerb … hoping he might be able to sniff out Clay. They offered to help in the search and rescue as did many skiers.

Too weary and devastated to manage the stairs to their rooms, they all took seats in the dining area. The first hour of searching they held out hope of finding Clay alive … by the sixth hour and countless dead bodies located, their hope dimmed. They persisted in digging where the ski patrol flagged a potential person, but each one they found … was not their brother.

Around hour seventeen, Sonny had gone off the deep end, ranting and raving at how the stupid kid should’ve waited for them and if he had, he would still be alive. His diatribe ended with him embraced by Jason as he sobbed, and ever since Sonny had been stoic and silent.

None of them wanted to believe they witnessed Clay die in such a senseless way. Such a mundane way for a Top Tier SEAL to meet his end … no blaze of glory as he saved the world … only a silent whisper encased in a frozen tomb. Sadly, they all held the same unspoken wish … that he died swiftly as the snow impacted him … perhaps a snapped neck.

If he survived the initial onslaught, and slowly ran out of air, that would be as bad as when Sonny was trapped in the sub tube. Actually worse, because Clay would’ve been all alone. None of his brothers there to say goodbye … to hear his last words.

Ray’s eyes were red from both lack of sleep and tears he shed on the return here when the rescue teams sent them away … when they changed from rescuing to solely recovery efforts. He peered at the shattered faces and broke the silence. “Jace, we should call Blackburn.”

A tick which had developed after Nate’s death and diminished with time came back in full force as Jason rubbed his thigh. “Not calling yet.”

“Why?” Ray focused on Jason, noting his glistening eyes and set jaw. They were all hurting … they lost a brother.

“Not until they find the kid.”

“Jace, …” Ray swallowed the lump in his throat, “you heard the rescue leader. Clay’s body may never be recovered.”

Clenching his fists to stop rubbing his leg, Jason pinned his gaze on Ray.

“I’ll call if you want,” Ray offered.

“My job,” Jason ground out. His mind couldn’t … wouldn’t accept Clay was gone. Not this way. Not after all the shit the kid survived.

When Cerb whimpered, Brock pulled him close, needing and giving comfort. Cerb would’ve made a great Saint Bernard. He found many people and saved many lives, but that was a hollow victory because they couldn’t find the one they desperately wanted to locate.

Ray’s head bowed, knowing he couldn’t change Jason’s mind at the moment, and he didn’t have the strength or inclination to try. He sought solace in his faith as he prayed for Clay’s soul, and help to deal with his grief.

His shoulder and heart aching, Trent glanced at the medical textbook he left on the table yesterday after Jason called. Nothing in it would bring Spenser back. He knew most avalanche victims survived only two or three hours in air pockets, and the longest anyone ever survived was believed to be twenty-two hours. They were well past that mark. Trent buried his face in his hands and let his tears fall.

Sonny stood and walked to the little bar ensconced in the far corner of the room. He grabbed six glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Returning to the table, he poured a shot into each glass and handed out four, leaving one on the table and holding the last.

Clearing his throat, Sonny held his glass aloft. “Simba, it was an honor to serve with you. May you rest in peace, little brother.” He slugged down the burning liquid and then walked out of the bed and breakfast, needing to be alone in his sorrow.

Ray, Brock, and Trent all downed their shots and dispersed, also needing to be alone to grieve.

Jason lowered his glass and set it beside the one Sonny poured for their absent brother. He refused to drink until he had tangible proof. Not until he saw Spenser for himself, which meant he might never find closure for the loss of a chosen son.

.

_... To be continued in AI-T_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil muse at work. This story will continue with AI-T ... working title at the moment is **Taken**


End file.
